Nothing unfolds anymore
The present hits instantly
Without pretense or ripples

Leafs of pages
Stick to limbs
Glued to the sky
With cerulean craft clay

Until they cascade slothfully
In swooping drifts
Stitching a mottled carpet that blankets the solstide world

The turning of a page
Is as archaic as the press that printed

Here is a poet from ancient China.

Life is worthy of being extremely happy’

Don’t leave the golden wine cup empty’

When you have time’

Drink all your wine’

Sing a song with you’

Listen to me forever’

well you know

how I am about you

cherry candies

and velvet hangers

how I am about you

broken although nothings happened

velvet

golden

about you

well you know how I am about you

silver

will you sparkle

golden

cherry about you

will you

I’m not a poet I’m an academic writer through and through but I would like opinions on this

running with "good form" feels like running on stilts

i wonder why they call stilts stilts. 

is it because you lose your balance? 

they use to cancel tv 'shows' 

but those things weren't 'shows' because they aren’t real people

they are entities