Sunday, April 16

a seeded apple making its way into empty rhetoric twice removed from cubist painting. and all i can think of is swirling cds that dream of stealing rainbows from oil spills.
seven menacing fingertips that can heave and heave but not type two sentences coherent!

trip[];'

trip.>;

trip;':
tuning a radio that jingles statics and jangles and aaahs and squeals. watermarks that you can see through the paper held at light twice stolen from the fireflies. the sky is torn tissue paper my brain is chewingum and i want to type things like 'gather me in your fingertips'
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3 comments:

Anonymous said...

four days later...hope those are fingers flying across the page as fast as your thoughts...

1:25 pm
Pizzicato Hana said...

i hoped too

8:04 pm
Anonymous said...

In a churchyard by a river,
Lazing in the haze of midday,
Laughing in the grasses and the graze.
Yellow bird, you are not alone
In singing and in flying on,
In laughing and in leaving.

Willow weeping in the water,
Waving to the river daughters,
Swaying in the ripples and the reeds.
On a trip to Cirrus Minor,
Saw a crater in the sun
A thousand miles of moonlight later.

12:07 pm

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