While I was walking down the path
I generated holographic passersby with golden retrievers that lapped up sunshine and put it all into their coats,
the music in their headphones danced over to my music and riddled away together impromptu and in phase, the waves building and ascending above our heads
I fashioned holographic flickers of alien botanicals which displayed the biolumenescence of glowfish, they bobbed precariously over fragile reality in thin layers at times more translucent.
At times I’d walk through them like tendrils of smoke just to find more smoke down the path. Smoke which gradually saturated with color and texture like a painter’s rag in midair
the scent of marijuana was recalled from memory then emanated from my sweat and I breathed it in again and again as I paced in the humidity and the humidity drew it out.
I dreamt of being high and atop a bicycle, eyes watering and psychadelic patterns skittering off the edges of everything. It was as if I was throwing out waves of observation which eddied and pooled against it all. Minute lines of whirlpools delineated the landscape
Quite the illusionist with quite the appetite, rolling through the woods, hungry for the folded crunch of all these leaves, all I need is ranch dressing
I’ll let ladybugs meander through my salad, I’ll eat around them, a kind herbivorous gangly giant with a pecking order in mind and high, high standards.
While I’m traipsing through the commons, bewildered and animalistic, taking too much in the way of sensation, I’ll faint into naps in mounds of clover and drool dew onto heart shaped leaves
If you need this
Take the peach flesh and slice it into pale film
In the razor thin we multiply
Stacked up and aligned
Slipped out into thin sheets
Shone through with light
Have I come alive?
By Silver Williams
After last night’s debauchle they decided to check my hands
Flipped them several times
But a person is a magic show until they are completely stripped
And even then, its hard to tell when a person is naked
It is difficult to tell when you’ve gotten to the very center because the glass is frosted and the core seems to shrink into an ever older body, dwindling into the impossibly elderly. As still as a root stump that is indeed dead but functioning. It would be impolite to stare just give her longer to wake
And don her magic breathes like earliest blooms of spring when you’ll have to forgive me because it’s difficult to believe this is real.
I thought we were dead. In the winter florescence of a ward. Yeah we’re worse for wear but we are filling our palms and then pouring humble handfuls into our lungs and just sitting in plain sight, incongruously alive
By Silver Williams
Creation speaks Latin. My medium is calling, my tools are shaking with tremor. The brushes and pens, themselves subjects, each one a brush stroke reflection. En tongues. Magnetic fields coaxing them to swirl in clinking motions.
The suspense of the unhinged, the actions waiting to be dropped into the next divet. I’m nervous too
Make no bones about it
I’m just eyeballing this because I’m sure it fits in to my pupil filter
It drips down into my morning coffee
It rumbles out a complaint like everyone else rumbling and mumbling and complaining because their bodies ache and age
And cataracts make everything diluted even in foresight the small premonitions brewed into brackish wishes. You really must get that clock fixed. Jot it into a neon list, a sticky note adhered to the fridge screaming green. Do you hear me?! Tick Tock drip drip! Fuck-a-grrr-rumble
It’s good posture
It’s channeling the thoughts that were born spinal
The brain stem splayed out espalier
Eventually, the head falls
In the meantime, I am larva in a passing phase