On January 11, Afrika and I went to LACMA. It helped dispel some of the writer’s bloc that I had been feeling, which I captured in the poem below prior to going.
It flows and floats
From off the pen
I don’t want to correct it again
It’s rubbish, it’s trash
I wish it would fix itself
So my brain I wouldn’t have to rack
Make it belong to someone else
It’s my pride, it’s my joy
My precious, my peril
Fertile thoughts that I sometimes wish were sterile
They’re not good enough
Or they’re always too good
Believe in ourselves-
I wish we all could
Wingz
Stillness
LaLa
Hiii
g0lden
Columns
$tarz
BR33ZZYY 