A Love Story

Trouble, mounted,
waters running shy.
Win, mirrored as poltergeist of place that’s long been forgotten in
futures that have left a place
for us

Sticks and blood, we and heat,
as friction, rubbing incessantly,
in to,
oblivion.

Fire, smoke
broken, wars.
Dual placements evaporate as pressure,
– heat –
takes us, as well.

Mounted, clouds, fidget – action –
for loud, boisterous.
Dreaming of falling, incessantly.
Brings rain
to gravity

Published by Kevin J

I think I write to try to explain moments that I don't truly understand. That's why I have a tendency to be wordy. The closer I am to minimalism, the better off I am. I also do it to keep records of what I was thinking at certain periods of time, so some kind of footsteps are left showing me how I got here. Looking back, it seems inevitable that I am where I am now; couldn't have been anywhere else. I don't have any goals for the future, except for trying to enjoy it. I'm the opposite of most people I know; I no longer want to know what is coming up next. I just want to create the road and ride, or not create it and ride anyway.

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1 Comment

  1. kevin j.,
    this is even better. minimalist magic. may i suggest for future reading these language poets: bob perelman, ron silliman, michael palmer, and rae armantrout. they have cleansed my writing palette a great deal. keep up the excellent work. will

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