I enjoy getting a little orange in my stocking every year. Today, I played with visualizing the joy of that experience.
New Poem
A Precarious Achievement
It was a beautiful ceiling,
a feeling of wishing
the time I wasn’t home
flickers across and distorts
our lives.
Games and cookies further generalized
while the implications stimulated
giving us candles, the yard
was spectacularly vulnerable.
Eliminating rationality,
I went into the street
with more decentered
notions of weaknesses.
Prepared for senility,
they made sure to keep
the windows hot/cold.
Only just beginning
not to improve, but
nothing came back.
From their fragmentation?
She’d say insufficient metaphors.
Experience Writing 