@PeteKEriksson: Here’s the problem with contemporary poetry: the mind of language study has eclipsed the basic spiritual urge to write poetry. I may amend at any time, but I’m pretty sure this is right.
Breaths blowing acidic
A sharp bone angles, a knife
I love you my tart
Round Electric moon beams
Horses muscled neigh blue flame
Bite bite me again
I arrived two days ago in Amherst, MA. Today I realized that my brain and about two-thirds of the items in it have been removed, but I found my intelligence even it remains up in the cloud, maybe iCloud. Shades of gray and white and crevasses of blue, blue, true blue. And in them, I will lose myself to find myself and I’ll fly the friendlier skies and land under the direction of air control tower full of wisdom from some great teacher/writers.
The sky is plain blue
The world, heavens don’t quit fit
I have less than wit
To be visionary and ecstatic or to be aesthetic and sublime, that is the question.