the paper edge
ticks along
lifting me from my error…
I am not noticed
this spark, this colour, this ache
these words
and it is right, as right as can be in a moving illusion
to overlook
attention is like glue
liquid is the way
liquid is this vessel and contained
something bigger
but infinitesimally small
I wander a rambling lie
I revel a pressing deceit
I awake in a flaunting dream
who am I to be commanding release?
really, I ask
qui suis je?
more art? www.artofkundalini.com
All That Glitters Is Not Gold
it is all just bullshit anyway.....
Your Brain is a Radio that Does What its Told
Haikus Senryus and Tankas about anything and everything
Poetry
musings on life | bits of psychology | attempts at poetry
In other countries individuals go to jail and/or die for weblogging. While the bulk of this country makes the internet an extention of T.V.
Scripting the desires that are soul deep
poetry that speaks to you
The Poetry Monarch.
Life, death, and everything in between
BLUEJAY
Darkness, delusion, smeared with a stick of butter and laughter. Words collide, they bring forth death!
Pain goes in, love comes out.
well, come on in. bite. chew. spit.
He started Writing, The paper started speaking...
Silver Poetry 
Love that “moving illusion…” phrase.
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yes me too, i want to take that and expand on it x
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Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.
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xxxx
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❤ Hope you've been well and sending you joyful happy holiday wishes. ❤
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thanks! yes we are all well xx
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