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.

12.06.2005

Beached

I put an apple core down
Hoping the flys would settle
Due south on the sweet scent

No wind, just waves of water
Clouds of tooth paste
Mythical shunts of heaven’s doormat
And black flys eyes

Writers block i figure, they smell it
Perching upon me, there millions
Of identical optical receptors
Always peering

Not one wants the core ambrosia
It’s me or the water’s edge
I sit still hoping i become just
Another rock to erode away

But the whispering of their wings
Sounds like the shells breath
Beckons for the water’s line

It is a sad day when
You fly face first
Against the waves creeping tide
Covered like elephant, moose, hippo
With moral-less, heathens
Pulling up at the very last moment
And settling back as the tide swoops out

I rise, droplets scatter against the rocks
I sloped back up the way i came
Leaving the pen and paper
Let the flies try and write this poem

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