Travel Shorts

This poem is made from my tweets, which are fed into the tweet cruncher and spat out into recycled poetry.

My sad picture had a cry
that perpetuates the right.
We're 25 hours in across the cycle of emotions
needn't matter...
is pleased to see a divine set change as a question.
I listened to dusk.
Candles lit,
getting bitter-er...
would still dreams of emotions this time!
Shall we walk with words,
sibilance expression,
discussion!
He deserves his happiness, without dirt,
our psychogeography is hope
after I've bet.
You keep.

The sun may have woken me first,
but I'd had a night of fitful gasping.
Operosely orectic I'd been persuing 'O's
and wrestling with wonderous workable 'W's.
So it seemed the dictionary had called me to wake.
I was teetering on the edge of the book;
poised and ready for exploration.
All I had to do was jump
and I could find myself
cleansed under words and their powers.
Sibilant sounds of swishing as I search
the pages for suppletives and suffixes;
their fricatives tiny hooks tugging
on my hair like a little boy in the
playground.
My rubiginous freckles resting on the riparian
banks of 'R's and all their purring glory.
Transpicuous water tumbling over my inept toes
I rise to the surface only to see
that it's cold up there and I bit my
tongue in the arc of conversation.
I dive back in. Rippling through ribbons
of rudimentary 'roonerspisms', which always make
me giggle and deliver a blushing crow.
As I turn fathoms to leagues
my stories are collected;
drawing into me other worlds with their
metonymy and morphology
and showing up through my skin like veins.
Each carrying a tale.

Sending songs

ooh soldier
burnt himself
on the solder
fighting broken
wires
in a battle he can't lose.

Iamb

excited
to see what's next

Half sonnet: Polyphant

Many elephants
University of Elephants
Various Freudian phantasies
Fantasy University
Polyps from Hants.