Fuck you, Rob



10/9/16 A poem about the feel of a poem in the brain and what eventuates from it

The taste and feel of these words,

the shapes of them in my mind,

bulging and jostling and squirming

trying to find a way out...

here they are, right here, right now,

as I bleed myself into this text... for what?

The impetus bearing no rhyme or reason,

not even to me, the creator of this fictional



Global Scriggler.DomainModel.Publication.Visibility
There's more where that came from!