In A State
30 June 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: pretend you’re mad
What I know about guitars could fill one case — or not even the order of strings, anymore — I did know that at one time — maybe I’d know if I ever plucked it from its universe of Sedona sunrise felt — where no one plays, or does anymore — Remember when my friend Chr — covered old guitar body no neck with canvas to shrine the mother for a time — there was a blue, a chiaroscuro that added grams and grams and —
States of harmony — that sort of thing — haven’t been easy to find, nothing lying around where I can see — wounded strings, though I don’t know how they even tell where one end is snipped off — only know for sure for sure you don’t want eyes in way of that if snapped — before you snap — I know the pills did something but I thought it was long ago —
Trying ignore the faces of the edges of the pain — they don’t look good instruments — you know — fucking swearing away there like there’s nobody else around — when getting to the stage takes more cults and crutches than you can ordinarily take with you in a backpack —
Prompt:
Once again, I must beg your pardon for poor organization. I’ll accept however many wrists slaps you feel I deserve. Hmm. For today’s prompt, I want to see some madness. Oh, you know it’s one of my favourite…
