Life is not an accumulation of things; it’s a release of things. It’s an explosion, a light, a fire.

We don’t hold on to the things we keep–we exist among them. We live for life and life alone. For the sheer, beautiful energy of it all.

That’s all I wanted to say.

nudism
is better than
prudism
fourteen hours waiting for the sun

gelatinous waves of
sand and
pandas, footloose and
fearless

tick tock, nine o’clock
time for work and play
moments arisen
lifted, sinned

oh, beautiful for
spacious.

where! are! my onion! rings?
deep-fried, golden brown
what! are! my wedding! vows?
too much
too little
too

origami organisms orgasmed while

the wanderer wondered,
“where is my teapot?”

and we replied,
crisply,
warmly,
“what teapot?”

I should write poetry, “she said.”
Purple flaccid (putrid)
Hydr-angeas

I should write “poetry”, she said.
Americans never knew, that
Two plus two was
More Than.

NABISCO is the number one
evident art
(evacuation, ejaculation)
“aloha,” said the juvenile
inappropriate. hapless.

COOKIES felt
empty, unknown
void, inappropriate
“I already said that,” she said.
“!tn’did uoy tuB,” he exclaimed!
But. No,

Two plus two equals
Three
Faces unending
Uniform uniforms
Tepid translation

“Alliterative alliteration?” asked Aleks.
“Alphonso et all
EIGHT HUNDRED apricots already! I
A-dded them with my A-bacus!”

Who knew? Who knew we couldn’t describe them fully?
Who realized that dark and deep and foreign and void were all synonyms for
“shoelace”? This is not a fraud.
THIS IS NOT A FRAUD

(thisisnotafraud)

“I should write poetry,” she said. And so she did.

It began,