Two Poems: One Made of Unattributed Samples.



Time you enjoy wasting

is not wasted time.

Stop acting so small.

You are the ecstatic

motion of the universe.

It’s only our mistakes

that bring us to the place

where we should have been all along.




A river is a place where water gathers

as it flows down from the mountains,

existing in dryness,

waiting for the rain or snow melt. 


I have dug a channel

so the words can flow

through me to the bottom,

Where they pool, reflecting

The waves of life

that move around me.


On the way to the ocean 

the river stays here.

in the flat lands,

winding this way and that, 

pushed, flat to the earth,

through the vast swaying grass

The wind rushes above tumbling

ice and vapor, beyond the horizon,

full of potential creation and destruction

bound in chaotic chains of motion.

This entry was posted in All part of the process, Found Art, internal landscape, mindworks, Other peoples words, poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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