Sometimes they drip in.
One letter at a time traveling into an empty basin of a mind,
when the sickly sweet has drained and a few cruds of pain still
cling to the metal. Sometimes it sings in sprays.
I’d choose coffee filters any day.
Fill them with paint,
introduce havoc to their vocabulary.
learn to break.
It’s like we melted color to the wall
then scraped it off.
It’s like crayon scenes,
coloring book glimpses,
fragile, crumpled slide show notes.
Clear sheets with ink
older now than we were.
Textual evidence involves citations.
I do not know how to prove the past’s existence.
What if everything only began now?
If anyone has topics or holidays I could work on for short strings of poems/micropoems for future poem fests, that’d be awesome. And if you happen to write or have written something on this or a similar theme, I’d love to read it!