1124-252020 Sometimes i forget the endless streaming voice of words, colors when im painting but im writing rn that are flowing theough me like i were hurrily and. Hurrily, more so hurrily felt to be speedily writing something that is illusory, evanescent, escaping my scaling thoughts the second they are typed and while i sip on the drink of forever and drunken the daisies of

Wrtirwnoe Im the Kokopelli. The space between. I am the mirror. Transusbstantiator to bread. But beautiful honesty of my mind, i cant help conjure words like this. Its brave, all pure feeling, fun, courageous, and if love is honest its a logical fallacy and spiritually attuned to perfection. So listen what follows yesterdays tomorrow, todays, tomorrows yesterday. Interlace my skin under time, i'm sure we've

Sea of Cloud Nov 19 2020 - Nov 24 2020 Bjorn Bengtsson     In Flight   Good morning how are ya i say to the morning light, mountainscapes slanted back in geometric forms against a horizon sky coloring up in gradations of a brown-pink, near green, then yellowish blue hue to hang large a canopy of sky over me as i ride into the

November 15 2020   Two poems written on a bench in downtown tempe:   EyeSee See eyes Looking with me Beatifully In all things i see eyes i look from my world uneclipsed an open eyelid   Avery Do you sit with me? on this lonesome occupied space this bench by the old pine where we rhymed saw trees uneclipsed, told stories. I'll keep up