PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Language, language, language, and it’s smooth meaning inflections as it makes its way across a memory screen of condensing rain, or rage as in a thousand chariots galloping their trotting shoes against the rain, against the run, run, run little fellows, there’s not much to do now, just be captured or color recorded in certain boxes, attuned to certain ways, surreal. The act of recording is such an odd thing too, in itself, how the parts of the record of pixellations can truly be taken to make different paths of things to be recorded. One of them is beauty, magic man, can you guess which and take your strifes, capture them in your bean bag of condolences? But how do those condolences scramble to create variances on slapped on measurements? How could we slap on language and time itself to create a more shaped curved reality? How could we do anything as it is, as it was?  A captured tape of a screwed on forest, from a purple empty space of the same right, the empty derivation of dream swirliness, machine being a mystery of a mystery. What is the reality that I have to upsoar? She said in this square. How does one unscramble to find a base? Registration of variance, of fuselage empty color packaged flights, engines whirring to find a propellation of lumosity and mysteriousity packaged in cotton candy smiles just yet. Renderance of purple mist