Wednesday, July 28, 2010


Guten Tag,

I have recently discovered a new very fun pastime.  It is stream of conscious writing.  As I do this exersize I find some pretty good poetry.  So I am going to share it here, and add more as I can!!  None of it is supposed to make sense, but actually, more sense than I expected...

smooth as silk and gray as day it seems to be all the time and again I will remember you are not the one i thought you were but blow your horn until the cows come home and the horses gallop and the snakes sneak and the cats roar and the beds sleep. I see you are the only one Iknow that is all balled up like the snow if you throw it at me you will break my heart and who know where all the pieces are because the pieces fell between the cracks and the cracks have moved a long way from home so you can't trace your steps or break your back it doesn't matter any more like it used to and I am tired of hearing about it but I can't stop it and it plays like a broken record and reel and shows me all the time how I feel about you.

the ground shakes like a milkshake is very vanilla and chocolately small my name is ANna and you are proud of me for making an effort even if it is very small my purse is wrinkly and black and it comes from the Bahamas where the nights smell of spice and the spice is silky as dew and peanut butter sandwiches which stand around you and dance in a circle about the trumpet call and the rain in the sky and the air in the bear and the brown old book which stands upon the dresser.

Below the air is care and the old eagle sees me run I hear a deaf man gurgle when he brushes his teeth and I am in front of him in line at the bakery and the coffee is hot and I am tired and need about 10 cups of the stuff but you smile and I snicker and the line gets shorter until I finally can get a whale of a fish to put in my cup.

banana brain is like a sea of hay and the cows come home to a dream of snow which is white as it always is but the yellow comes when the cows walk and the snow is churned like butter and becomes heavy and slow and sticky to your shoe or boot or heal the wounds of the past by admitting you are wrong and the wrong is not yours but another stranger that followed you home and asked for a blanket to sleep on and on and on until you can't run anymore or you will throw up your hands in surrender or praise or to grab the monkey bar in the dark at the park which smells like yesterday and the braids in your hair which furrow and plow the strands until the crescent becomes a bow and the gold spun is run away with the spoon.

hide and seek my stream of water and brown brown muddy earth the heaven and the earth meet together when the sky sings to the moon and the silver clouds stream all streamy and dreamy like when you fall asleep in the back seat of the car on a long road trip and it is time to go back home where you recognise all of the landmarks which are like cars and bars and pretty scars which contrast with the holy and the lonely bread and butter and cakes for supper i like to eat salad and butter and the bread needs a band of honey and money is short but it tastes like straw


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