ML
In the moment improv hobby writer...no format...no limits...no editing...wordsmithing is my new buttermaking...sourdough bread becomes paper
Buttons bottoming outside their
Sweaters sewn forth in warmth of
Comb woven nests in tv trees a
Mile up beyond some digital cloud...
Now they fall in hyper-spaced
Cyber-speed pixellated droplets
Through all false filters feeding a
Hastily hoarded human picknick...
Like some quantum basket filling
By Itself whatever it can unperceive
Chemically concocted imagination
Might carry the handle of this day...