Writing Challenge, Entry 7: Sense Irrelevant

Trickle tropic post.

Rasping blue straws,
berry sweet for your hurts hurry.
A drip-drop of vanilla whisper dear,
because you’re my lovely host.

I smell smells via my memory,
more than I would or will too,
smell smells of my death-contrary.

Who I am is the same as saying,
Where I’ve been and where I’m staying.

They don’t all come from sprays,
liquid linen or sheets,
some from fairies,
some sharp like beats.

All good to behave, understood?

Trickle tropic post.

I don’t edit shit – the writing challenge is for practice, practice, practice – as Salvador Dali painted – a connection to the thoughtless – is psychosis true reality?

Advertisements

There are no comments on this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s