I picked up the stick
and dragged it along
the gravelly road in
boredom. The goal
wasn’t noise, but there
it was. The purpose
wasn’t art, yet
scratched in the
coarse grain, evidence
I had passed that way.
Years from now, experts
would speculate the
purpose
of those etchings…
religions formed…
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as oblique in location
facing the passing time
then moving in opposing
ways to course these motions
these façades of varied degrees...
Read “this obliqueness…“ by for-much-deliberation on Medium #poems #ProsePoetry #writing #poetryonmedium : https://medium.com/@formuchdeliberation/this-obliqueness-2c9989f6457f
when you left this world
my heart became a hovel
where a mansion once stood
#mastoprompt - hovel
ART
https://fineartamerica.com/featured/love-deeply-comforting-floral-art-sharon-cummings.html
The day we discovered
that future and past
were the same, that
rods were cones and
versa fame.
The moment turvy
topped out, quitters
tapped in, and the
healthiest morning
drink was gin.
We knew. Turning
pages don’t make
a story. In the moment
all the glory.
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