A dada-inspired writing
activity. The text is as below,
Morgan in normal font, Matt in italics:
activity. The text is as below,
Morgan in normal font, Matt in italics:
Slowly we find the anchor of time dragging the depths
& scarring, scoring the earth.
My fear is engendered in labyrinthine process, that ugly spiral.
Sounding off the shores of regrets, we see the beauty in the
things we were too afraid to swim out to.
Awkward: you need to look in my eyes and move my lips.
The lip's odes to imperfections become the sweetest sentiment we
can conjure in the cut-out confections of sunday afternoons.
We are all so secret, sow secrets under our fingernails.
Empty chair makes music, sings loudly then screams & makes
known, crawling on wooden knees, the invisible weight upon it.
I grew up with no candlewicks burning smoke in my house.
Large, as if worth more, as if worthy by presence alone while dainty
& fragile was yearned for, the beauty to shatter under the weight of man.
There are those men, top hats corrugated cardboard lined.
Weakening the structure, breath warm & moist, through rib & lung,
he clings & claims that which no one else has the fortitude to tame.
Nero a quantumphysic aburns while Rome does fiddle.
To call an end to tidal pulse, or cease a people's breath. To murder
calmly the night's illusions & rest in stillness' rest.
Generic tidings as follows: hellogoodbye goodmorning(night)
This is the greatest peace of all, the eyelash in the wind,
uncertainty, no bed to crawl to, the warmth of only skin.
& scarring, scoring the earth.
My fear is engendered in labyrinthine process, that ugly spiral.
Sounding off the shores of regrets, we see the beauty in the
things we were too afraid to swim out to.
Awkward: you need to look in my eyes and move my lips.
The lip's odes to imperfections become the sweetest sentiment we
can conjure in the cut-out confections of sunday afternoons.
We are all so secret, sow secrets under our fingernails.
Empty chair makes music, sings loudly then screams & makes
known, crawling on wooden knees, the invisible weight upon it.
I grew up with no candlewicks burning smoke in my house.
Large, as if worth more, as if worthy by presence alone while dainty
& fragile was yearned for, the beauty to shatter under the weight of man.
There are those men, top hats corrugated cardboard lined.
Weakening the structure, breath warm & moist, through rib & lung,
he clings & claims that which no one else has the fortitude to tame.
Nero a quantumphysic aburns while Rome does fiddle.
To call an end to tidal pulse, or cease a people's breath. To murder
calmly the night's illusions & rest in stillness' rest.
Generic tidings as follows: hellogoodbye goodmorning(night)
This is the greatest peace of all, the eyelash in the wind,
uncertainty, no bed to crawl to, the warmth of only skin.
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