I suppose like the universe, poetry is similar. Very surprising and sublime. And sometimes a drug.

Imagine turning four things out of nothing. This is a research project from the big ripple. Anyone can!

Warning: Two poems next.

The rose rises above all just to wither and bleed into black flower sizzling in hot grease.

My scale of time by philosophy: Life can demand weirdness from us in terms of time + space (That is not the hope for life itself.)

To bite my bullet is a ride. Afterwards run that race. Inside the dread cityscape. Find then fleas at the market. In hotels.

If I'm right that forward motion is being witnessed let me know if I'm onto something in a month or so!🙂