Friday, August 5, 2016

Write Me a Periwinkle

Crayon poems are hard to write.

No spells or cantrips. They're common.

Pulled from the world, it's as if.

That's a serious metaphysick masquerading.

You might think otherwise, accuse me.

But none of this was what you'd call found.

I found it. Founded it. My way of doing this.

You never existed.

That would mean many things in the world.

All the worlds that never existed.

Could write wrote everything you've read.

If a ghost drew it, it isn't, wasn't.

Although it is, has been for you. Ghosts.

All the way through, all your life down.

Periwinkle blue ghosts for whom nothing.

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