The mind is like a sponge absorbing the spilt ketchup
of the moment gone horribly wrong.
Or if one were to rub two atoms together
they would burst instantly into a poem.
Words go to jail if they fail to capture
the state of mind of the person who
believed writing was merely putting pen to paper.
The writing untangles itself and word for word reenters
the tip of the pen.
The brain is made from papier mache
but can be cast in bronze or set in stone.
Some people don't even know they are host to a brain.
A man whose name escapes me now
but was an anagram for toilets
cried that he could connect "nothing with nothing."
I envied him and was jealous of his seeing.
**** my doppelgänger who autocorrects everything I
(dognapper leg engorged palp glopped anger "Grapple Ogden!")
have strived to manifest here.
I am an atom short of a universe.
Yet another "thing" brought forth from me by or rather cast out of me by the wonderful Kim Moore at her Cheltenham Poetry Festival writing workshop. Don't even ask! It was to get us to write and write I did and this...is...eh...what came up! Jaysus!
It was a 7min. exercise...just write with no taking the pen off the paper hence when I stalled I started anagraming the word doppelgänger in order to keep the words coming. And as it was my doppelgänger who was shapeshifting all I was saying I thought it was only poetic justice that doppelgänger itself should be the word to get anagramed...serve it ****** well right.