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New, No, Not Again

Flat channels divide

dangerous pathways my brain

seems to love, darkly,

so I plunge deeply to find

large oak branches, parallel,

 

for hanging is good

for dead, stolen spirits fly-

ing, bumping rocks of

hatred, and here I blast through

nothingness, leaving traces.

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  1. #1 by calvin on February 4, 2017 - 11:18 pm

    From this side looking in to this dark mind space as described, it appears cavernous. I don’t how one makes it out of this subterranean brain. I suppose ‘rocks for words’ help. Perhaps there is something to ‘explaining art to a dead hare’.

    Carl, good to see the Black Jaguars circling just outside the fortress wall haven’t got to you. Its good to read you again.

    • #2 by Carl on February 5, 2017 - 2:24 pm

      Thank you so much, Calvin! Is Hudson Howl fighting the battle? I appreciate your comment. I suddenly thought about the fact that writing terrible poetry is far better than writing no poetry, and if one person likes a little piece here or there, it is just like winning the Powerball. Kind of.

      • #3 by calvin on February 5, 2017 - 8:14 pm

        If what you do is terrible then am just flinging shit in the air in hopes something sticks.

        I don’t even care if someone likes what I do. But it is like winning the lottery if someone interacts or least takes a stab at it. Am done with blogging, having turned the switch off. I have discovered I like persons more then I like people. The main site has been taken down and will start over. Hudson Howl has been locked in the trunk of the car. I think will let him , along with an old crow and dirty unkempt fairy.

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