My current trend in writing is to treat it like bits of code. Debugging as time goes on (fixing spelling/grammarish issues).

Most of these poems will rest the way they are written, but given time and interest many will see a patches or 2 before it is over.


nothing left of my plate

crumbs crawl
and spurt
  turn in the wind
  blow across the ribs
  rustles the grass
a cage
is still four walls
to work with in
a cave
is still a tube
to the center of the earth

we sprawled out
without regard for
the guns and knifes
hanging onto the windshield
we would see through the glass
half way rolled down
the breeze at 60mph
hair raised
glasses on
stalled in the middle lane
empty tank
coasting for the afternoon

curves culled from the back
  of the cranium
  of the crank shaft
a projection from within
the soft tissue
between the rubbing
ontop of the grill

licked clean
talked it up
out above the tree limbs
my plate empty
my own life laid bare
a sprig of mint
a twig of parsley
nothing more


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