until you make up your mind / to learn to fly
What hierarchy / suggests / your impending / fruitions?
because all people everywhere / know that knowing causes / the greatest sorrow
It’s just a matter / of how many layers / of “me” you release
This writing is less the craft heavy and prosody poised work that keeps process hidden behind closed doors of the poet’s writing studio and their intellectual hesitance, and more the freestyle, live over home-made beats push for moments of flow.
might / watch / the Matrix Trilogy & / drink / a 2 litre
For this group of Overhead Projector Poem-ing poems I decided I would take my fancy projector to the Wick Poetry Center.
I work hard to ignore the critical voice in my head telling me that poems need to be finished and should never appear before a reader’s eyes without first having gone through many revisions and multiple workshop partners.
But that ain’t livin.
ink that manifested that poem is a stain on an old cotton shirt
The second installment of some kinda Over Head Projector Project–a visual exploration of light, space, objects and what is manifest in poetry and image.
My heart was a mess. No poems exited my person.
Every visual poem is constrained by human sense of what is real, whether physical “laws” or metaphors of abstract concepts.
I mean, you can have a graphic novel about Batman sitting in his bat-cave or you can show him swooping across rooftops.