Freewriting
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I don’t know the other face of the Moon. Mankind has not taught me enough to look past first appearances, and my head is always pointed towards the ground. My doctors told me that if I did not look up more my bones would set and my ligaments would become taut like ropes bound to…
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Do not backtrack. Do not delete. You should have come here with no expectations, like the way you were born. Or perhaps, there were already expectations threaded in your baby blue. You want to be something great, an absolute phenom, but the work to get there is beyond your comprehension. We’re not talking a closet…
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Straining my brain for juices for poetics because I am rushing out a poem to impress my friends and to some extent myself. Everything is written to impress another – oh, look at how expressive I am, look at the complexities and contours of my makeup heart. Sometimes I don’t have anything good to say.…
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Right where it belongs the half-fucked pop schizophrenic forestman plucks a book off the branches of a library-tree and plops it down on the mud. In the clearing where all the words stop hooting a line forms to spit into the face of God. See the safety of the life that he has escaped, this…
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People streaming out of classrooms, people never looking back on nature, people crowding about in smoking corners, people typing fervently on their laptops, people with their earphones plugged in and the music so loud they don’t hear their own keys, people who lie, people who live by power points, people who die by caffeine, people…
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I am writing this poem without having seen the end of it, without thinking of what can emerge from this process or not, much like hatching an egg, a child in the incubator of the womb, because all creation is birth and all death is anti-birth; I am a schemer in a room of humans,…
ugly stage 