Brush and Palette

I’M WEAK, I’M THIRSTY

N.C.

September 18, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

I’m weak, I’m thirsty - Faintlessly upset, For all the fully’s have gone, In their own form, to hold the sun . . .   Tavira, I tone In the illative precision of words: Vowels, conjunctions - In...

I’VE GOT A PAIN IN MY HEAD

A.

September 11, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

I’ve got a pain in my head - A white ivory glow . . . Searing like a massacre, inlandly so.   Blind with this hurt - this armstime’s rears, Carries me closer to the stem of my tears.   (Suspending...

THE FIRST (THE FIRST OF WHICH IS THOUGHT) OF MY THOUGHTS

N.C.

September 10, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

The first (The first of which is thought) of my thoughts - The loudest crepitating of sticks in brush, Brushes against me . . . Revealing in my blank twin bed, The raccroc coin of self-sensation . . .   I drift...

ALL OLD FRIENDS ARE OLDER PEOPLE

J.P.

September 10, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

All old friends are older people.   All past people are proven hypotheticals. We never know them, But know the reliving we’ve relived for them, in us. Which makes ‘us’ us.   Old friend, I...

WE WILL RAISE A HOUSE

N.C.

September 10, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

We will raise a house On the timbers of our shared souls’ language.   The seasons (each) went. And Waterless, they withered into dateless time.   But our house is raised, Ideological-less, on the...

HORSE FLY

N.C.

September 10, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

I stay up late, In a sort-of rove of sort-of jealousies - As errant as errors be, I do not know anything but my chicanery, Nor have anything but.   The fly sings round the room, In a sort-of rove of sort-of...

KISS ME ONCE, NOTHINGLOVE

A.

September 5, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

  Kiss me once, nothinglove, Formerly’s my asking again.   For you, Who’s fettered to this chain Of thoughts, like stakes, thereof.   I do not read, Nor heed the warnings Of cruelty...

INTRODUCTION UNTO ME

A.

September 5, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

Which part of myself is not myself? Wrung upon me, this thoughtful shelf, Of phrases and metaphors - sayings and things; Playing in their disobedience like schoolyard Kings.   I’ve learned no trade, Yet...

POETIC IRONY / ON CRITICISM OF CRITICISM

A.

September 5, 2018

Filed under Creative Writing

I too, malinger in the empty thought, And full - from which the brim is brought. Perplexity’s the prize, then, that’s sought In clearer verses.  

Sofia Pfanner

June 13, 2018

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