What is it like? Like a blomblastious hammer, torching the frielldian sky.
Treaching the tomboys about the colour blue. blue like a cold cat
wide & tided, from side to side; sighed.
But this was worth so much more than a sigh,
twas worth a handful of tea-whitened heightened light
Causing a ciender to t’tch t’tch tapping out the heartbeat of the night
A fleiding pitcher, tentcherously unravelling, treacherously recapturing, fry-pan jumping, wretchering.
On the road you know your own mind
Like a kite, fleeping out of the atmosphere
& a You
Attached to the string end
Editing your last words as if they will be captured,
A catalyst for burdens
Shanted solely for sliding
Past the pan and leading darkness
Secret ingredients include; made-up words added freely because real words don’t always cut it, a no-rule attitude, a willingness to let the words play across and around the page, and of course, a little madness is key.