Disgust Yourself
Jon's poem ("HIDE YOUR LIGHT UNDER A BUSHEL") has sparked an idea for an assignment. It's simple. Write your discomfort. That's it. -B.
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Showing posts with the label ground control I've lost it now
a final frontier, of sorts
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bigscarygiraffe
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Lost in a cannon of curve mirrors, he cannot perch or sling, rather sings every space song ever but only the chorus about Major Tom comes like a repetition that has fresh written all over it. He misses lettuce, putting on shoes, sharpening pencils. To catalog is to mark and there is no time here, just categories of awake-- stop, pause, breathe: the stars a shimmy machine.