*
I sit squinting
my eyes amazed
once more how the
desert mountains
blend well into
the pale sky
you need to
love words for
them to jump up
at you I imagine
people will be
wanting to
know how
poetry works
how the wind in
the desert does
what also heat
does create
a haze to blend
us all in with land
and sky tender are
the colors now as
I wish blending
with his spirit
.
.
.
.
.
annamosca 
We shall throw our joyful and sad words. A certain, slapdash messiness. Splashes of spattered colour. A childish enthusiasm unconcerned with carefully delineated boundaries. Messed up inner and outer. Bleeding happily out a drippy watercolour consciousness always surprised at what leads where. The gravity roads of slow moving falling flying attention. Just like this. A word music landscape. Note after note. I imagine ( illogically and within a temporal drift) your words chosen, spilled out in the same moment that I was searching for the taste of the echo aching blue sky, a cool hour before a still Northern dawn. Were the madness of poets to infect the world, how would, then, everything and nothing change, becoming wonder and praise and star-rocking silence.
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i really like this, great piece x
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