there’s a sense of... losing grip smooth and stainless time’s an inert shape when it gets all tangled I wonder ... what threads were pulled? my finger tips are numb to piano keys and several angles of pencil and my shoes are F major heavy ...flat launch pads for rocket engines their molten farts that desire blessed escape from sunrises
So… yesterday I posted a contribution to the dVerse prompt to write a post-modern fragmented poem. While I liked the images I had collected, I wasn’t sure they worked as a poem and therefore thought they might be wasted as a single post. So I have removed that piece from my blog. This is my second attempt. I’m not sure how fragmented it is so I have called it “Defrag”.