Life, isn't everything,
isn't everything,
isn't ever–th–ing...
its not personal.
Its rare to meet artists who can write well,
well we’ll see.
Sonnet to address, basic proficiency with language required for fucking,
seduction,
selection (Im hearing suction).
Se- prefix meaning: apart
depart, derange, digress,
now i'm just rhyming.
The best part of poetry!
The ethics or the sex?
What did she say, 'lay me poems'?
Strange digression into witches, ahem magicians,
who lose their power in sexual misadventures.
It feels like those (poets!) who are willing to air out the esoteric, new age and homegrown in our logic, do us service.
It’s there looming.
I heard my mother speaking when she spoke;
that soppy enthusiasm, it was belief speaking.
She brought us belief.
When belief enters the chat
it's a bit hard to bear, you should be prepared,
because it is out of the ordinary.
And everything is extraordinary now,
but is this moment sufficiently extraordinarily different?
In our representations of it?
In our representation of ourselves in it?
The world as I found, the world as I left it.