Wringing in progress, the RIP edition. Or perhaps more seditious to your internal governing than you know. Paying for pangs each day, buckets of words from yard sales, they saw us, and the garden where they grow like we’d rather nots #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

My eyes close faster than they open, so fast the glass shatters and I’m on my hands and knees, dust pan and brush, away the grass before it grows greener over the styptic tranquility. Don’t you unsee what’s really going on here? It’s been written in the strictures. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

It’s scary to me that you are ashes. Will I be ashen too, someday? Is it my place to emulate, a homunculus of consciences? Are we nested at the quantum level, the you that didn’t burn, and me still entangled, still a boy? #5amwritersclub

Define the universe: The universe is an 8-foot cube, unwashed and uneasy. But, is the unverse universe devoid of poesy? It’s an unwell umwelt to be sure. Place in universe: one poem, lemon squeezy. Queue prompt and circumspect. #5amwritersclub

Wanting nothing. Air rotting. Parochial indifference. (I just don’t care for Tuesdays) It’s the apathetic heretic (I was bit by a dogma once) dispensing meh, not bothering with apostasy, lazy and rather quite crazy. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Some crime. The truly wicked are not discerning, just ticking off a list like food shopping, or their to-don’t list, masticated and swallowed, the evidence dense enough, but digestion hides the what we consume, what we plan, what we avoid. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry Prompt @jayheltzer.bsky.social

Daily pug. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Screen typing with my left-pointer this AM. Collaborating with a stranger, free ranger, so much danger this morning. Casual typing with causal lexicon moments, meant to be, been, yet haven’t happened yet. All my yesterdays, fresh for the taking, rebaking, dusted fingerprint evidence #5amwritersclub

Daily pug. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

My thumb is a chicken, hunting and pecking poems indiscriminately. It descends from dinosaurs, great bellowing beasts. It’s not below me to follow me as I pick and scratch through feed words for that wriggling worm, lifting my mighty knuckle, checking for typos. #5amwritersclub

Are we more like Tetris, at least making the attempt to rotate slide and drop into place, exploring the space, keeping the pace. Or (and here’s the shift) Are we cultivating Belladonna, just so I can be your huckleberry? Or maybe even we make a few pies and you decide. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

busymad, rezzingman, and the multiplicative effect of never that became sudden. Toasters as streetlamps, the night popping down like toast, and that one procrastinator shuffling down the alley, flinging cats indiscriminately, and you just know morning is fucking your shit up #5amwritersclub #poetry

Porch railing restrains. I’m a prisoner. There’s no escaping though the slats. I can reach though and yank a leaf. Perhaps it breathes for me, its stomata performative survival. Stairs matter though. Always there, never used. And leaves are many in piles. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Light doesn’t creep in, father truckers…it stabs and it bloodies. It’s a goddamn serial killer moving at the speed of, well, it. And we worship it, we gnash our teeth and rent our garments when it appears. With upturned faces we give adulation. Pre-irony, like clockwork #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

I want to be fresh. Perhaps talking pizza puppets can do the writing for me. It worked in the case of the cobbler and elves. Perhaps if I leave my fridge open, leftovers golems will animate and create my magnum opus. Or perhaps all along I’m their leftover, and I’m doing the writing for them. #poem

What is the asymptote to insanity? Out of the frying parity, into the fire and brimstone, with tea. Or maybe that’s Tuesday. All thoughts when done, chopped, bagged and leached. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

We write of things poetically as emotions translocate us, and we capture moments, sometimes with single words. But there’s an arrogance in all of it. Don’t you see? Hunters of words we all are. Shouldn’t they run free? The hubris, as we anoint our laureates, as participles pile up #5amwritersclub

It’s a lattice attic. It’s a burgeoning basement. And everything of consequence in between is nonsequence. (new word) limited pocket space maximized lint race Concerned about wrong things the right day. “Hey, if there’s a way, there’s a won’t.” Raze. Or don’t. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Melting clocks show time just as well as boiling words. sow contempt, show attempt, slow pre-empt of phases, spaces, lazy faces that betray us. Watched words definitely toil as drippy clock hands run into the gutter and collect in our groundwater. Slake your thirst. Time isn’t first #5amwritersclub

Lemniscate, what it ate, lying on its side? Do we count to 4 or 6? Will it teach us all its tricks? How it stretches to forever. What if was to be clever and made a move to pull the lever and stand erect? Would you object on its behalf? Then only eight (what a laugh) it isn’t even nearly half.

Cogito ears grow, looming past twice, and thrice I’ve swung and missed the fly. I don’t know why, except he’ll die. Henceforth formerly known as maggot, thus contributing to his disposition, I finally trapped him. His last words were trash, but he flew patterns and transitions. Respect. #poetry

An inkling asked, “What is my reflection, Mr Writer?” So I held up a sheet of paper. “But it’s blank, kind Sir. I asked, “Does it matter if you reflect in the past or future?” “No,” it answered. “Then someday your words will be there. That they’re not now has no import.” #5amwritersclub #poetry

A poem of whimsy, to clear my head. Daily poem put to bed. Next day poem in my head. Edit poem all the red. Anxious poem dripping dread. Diet poem eschews bread. Lemmings poems to be led. “These things have form,” it is said. “F@(k that shit,” said Mr Ed. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

I deleted an entire poem. The carnage adorns the floor like dandy detritus. You’d think there was a parade through here, fanfare, noisemakers, cotton candy dropped and trampled. They’re cover for other things, seditious reflexes, not-me’s hiding. Don’t trust me. Ever. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Daily Pug. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

We fill this space at a lonesome pace with unspace. Me, myself and eye of not. And we started out thinking ourselves wizards. We transmuted matter into energy, ink into manifestos and time into gold one could exchange for valuable prizes. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

I’ve decided to be a successful writer.

In the distillery of the night, we are youthful again, taking shots of moonlight like they are water, and whooping and hollering with untainted joy, like unpainted art that is ready to burst out and arrange oil and pigment and canvas into something akin to wallpaper. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Why is the air out of which we create said to be thin? I find it to be a 10x concentrate with no diluent to be found. One almost has to take slices of air, and make a sammich. Or snowshoes, or maybe even a cabin, where we can be solitary and parse things. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Daily Pug. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem