with window open...
Posted to Action Poetry
by orange on 2003-08-18 13:39:00
...I usually sit on the edge of my bed, scattered art projects on floor display, order in chaos. There I fly pens over paper, ideas under breath, dreams in song.
In my imaginations sight, the words unfold to an unknown beat, there is where I reside.
Rhythms walk among the spaced out masses and rounds their rigid motions for the sake of haberdashery.
whatever that means.
