Thank the poetry who voices.
to do more tag today,
follow bacterial redemption,
question the 100 years before.
it drew the land it feels.
empty,
a sky full of flowers
join your brink,
a place of yore.
lovers,
there's fire & it's not political.
a rocket becomes safe;
huge exchange,
a blast through trauma.
defiance cannot be beautiful
in ruin white as this world.
this hell is revenge but sometimes,
the world is yours.
work.
grow.
ready sunlight.
how can we see the pattern in chaos?
sex in poetry medicates the monologue
& crying celestials give hope.
when the music starts,
you're a flower.
mud flourishes & maps the impossible.
generous plays with slow anticipation.
Thank the poem who speaks.
Do you hear voices when you are half awake at night? Something like someone else saying random words, words you didn't think of, ideas you didn't present to your brain?
It feels somehow like an erasure poem for me, the above poem. Unlike the regular erasure poems where words and phrases are lifted out of context from other body of written work to create, I lift the words and phrases for my erasure poems from the maisma that is my unregulated unconscious.
This particular poem above was lifted off Twitter. I simply picked random words and phrases and attempted to make them a whole. This is an experiment. I am more comfortable taking random words from my subconscious than from the interactions of other persons.
In reading the poem, it feels disjointed, surreal, like different voices speaking, thus the title. I hope you find it interesting enough to comment. Peace.