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Park: Her Dress A Daisy XR!

To the openness; the world will not be empty.
I run into the open air-breathing spaces.
"Daddy!"


Red. XR, XR! 
        The verdant fields, then, child. Onward.
        Everso in spirals.

A Thousand Years of Sunrise, Strophe

I see you, quiet horse.

Old friend, stalky limbs grazing some pedestal,
your hushedness shelled in-- symmetric,
sympathetic with the air--

your leaves like petals blowing,
quiet as the earth.

Long legged dancer we are running together,
we are simple chords on the piano,
everso everso.

I am yours.
I have always hung upon your heart,
your heart curved the same as my father's arms where I hang;

like a good man's daughter
I see you. I see you. I see you.


MVDRW: The Big Red West.
              The White 175 South.

               1! 2! 3! 4! Ambernumerics!
               1! 2! 3! 4!
               XR

Park: Pax Americana. The green. Stasis.

Everso. Everso. Everso
the blanket down. On the
green. Breathing
everso.


Hermes Dragonfly. Black and Rainbow.

Oh, noble steed! The open road!

The Dress Like A Daisy/A Thousand Years of Sunrise. Reprise! Strophe in circles always. Everso.

"Daddy!"

MVDRW: A Question in snow. South

Park: Black Hair Like Water. Antistrophe in muddy circles.

The child
sleeps in the red, red
earth, in the clay
I carry. The water. The fountain.
Already a crimson lily growing, growing.


East C: 1! 1! 1! 1! Everso.

Trees: Glances askance.

"Ci- cay- dah!"

MVDRW: The White 157 South.

Trees:

         "Ci- cay- dah!"
   
The Black and White: The Ninety and the Ten. 
                                 go, go, go.

East C: Blue North

Trees:

         "Ci- cay- dah!"

Park: Silent Equus. Some pedestal. Stasis.

ICU.
Red purse like a heart.
Tiresias.
Tie-re-sigh-ess


Trees:

         "Ci- cay- dah!"
 
Heaven: Chop, chop, chop, chop.

East C: Yellow white white.
              White Six Six North
              A Question in snow. 

Heaven: Chop, chop, chop, chop.

Park: Pax Americana. The green. Stasis

I face you, Heaven.
I watch the watch.
I face. It faces. They face.


Heaven: Chop, chop, chop, chop.

Park:

         Children of the Night!
         Drink! Feast! Live! Thrive!

1,1,2,3,5,8,13!


Heaven: Chop, chop, chop, chop.

MVDRW: Yellow, Blue, Yellow.
              1! 1! 1! 1!
              White.

Park: Lux. J'adore Faire la Promenade!

The White and Black: XC
                                Chocolate Chocolate
                                *sits in parallax*

Heaven: Chop, chop, chop, chop.

Trees:

         "Ci- cay- dah!"
 
The White and Black: PopHiss!
M/CA #2
Wednesday, September 8th 19:17. Seneca Park, Chicago.
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fine fine fine fine
does fine boy good
every every every every

----

he'd mentioned he'd mentioned:
they're there.

there there.
he'd mentioned he'd mentioned.

----

The Colony came.

They cut the trees.

They concocted right angles

in ninety degrees.
Colonies
9/3/16 GH.
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the air sweats thicker than bone china cups clutching a wolf pack.

the roof tilts into an amnesia. 
barometers howl.

the tarps pick up their skirts
and flee into the forest.


flora,
fauna,

merry weather.
FLORIDA
8/29/16 GH.
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the star bends,

expands
out warps
into fluorescent
triplicate along the copper
straight

forward along
the ever-and-anon alwaysbeen,

until pinching at the edge of the ultra
marine marine
flying, flying

right through the arrowhead

the star was
always there, transposed translated
across

two places everso now.

the star
bends the star,

bends.
Wolf in the teacup.
Dark, fevered creature's boiling.
The skylight crashes.

*

Their mascara runs,
Sweet youths, the cusp of thirteen.
The sulking roses.

*

The darkness whistles.
Candles and constellations.
A party for ghosts.

*

Paris in August.
J'adore faire la promenade!
Your kiss: old city.
Quatrefoil
8/25/16 GH.
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deviantID

FritoB
United States
I'm excited to say that I'm back. I've been busy taking care of adult life and feel like I have neglected my writing and my page and all the great work that's been going on through NaPoWriMo up until now. I have sheaves of everyone's work to read through and enjoy, so don't be surprised if you receive a random flush of faves from me. Or be surprised; go for broke and be shameless in your delighted alarm. Or don't: I'm not the boss of you.

And I HAVE been reading through a lot of great work. I am constantly so impressed by everyone's ability to create and develop new work and ideas. The virtue of this site (and what consistently feeds my fire) is that it has the potential to create brand new styles and movements of literature in a time when classic forms become rote and stale. This is a beautiful little crucible, where a single idea or word or turn of phrase can become a catalyst for a brand new way of thinking about communicating and communing with the public. Literature is evolving with and adapting to suit a new, technological canvas and a fresh generation of minds that have never known a world without an intimate relationship without computers and highly sensitive technologies. I have seen my own style develop overnight because I have a screen in front of me instead of a sheet of paper. And although I still write some things in longhand, writing with lightning at my fingertips has shown me new thoughts and avenues of my imagination that would otherwise lie dormant.

I've been fortunate enough to be a contributor to the group GlitchLit, which is a great forum for creating and exploring the human condition and the human's relationship with communication in a digital age. Humans are fallible in ways this technology is not. I think this seemingly infallible medium exposes our humanity as well-- if not better-- than a page because of its superhuman efficiency and odd fragility. As the global community becomes smaller and better connected, zeros and ones become our new, global phonemes. Our digital data can last theoretically longer than in notebooks and can connect with anyone whose mind is on a similar wavelength.

Our languages begin to mix and divide again and again. New symbols come into play. Code becomes earthy and Earthly. But technology is more fallible than we are in profound ways. I'm passionate about GlitchLit, because it builds the bridges that future generations of poets will look to as technology brings us closer together. It sets the precedent for a new frontier. It allows us to make messes without getting our hands dirty, which is, in my opinion, crucial to the creative process. Being bold, making mistakes on purpose, exploration, experimentation, and making madness for the sake of new methods, PLAY, is mandatory for me. Many will disagree, and I hope they do.

I can understand how I may be alone. Art, and especially poetry, is diffuse by nature. You like what you like and create what you know. But I want to spread the word about this groovy poetry sandbox where you can build a castle or a mud pie or sling a little muck or dig to China with a rusty soup can if the spirit moved you, and the process and product will be supported in equal measure. The currency is respect and a sense of adventure. So, if I have not bored you with pontification this far, I hope you feel invited to share your tech-happy poetry or experimental work with GlitchLit. This is my one shameless plug for something that I am quite passionate about, and I hope you join in the fun.

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:iconspoems:
spoems Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2015   Writer
Thanks for the support. 
Reply
:icon50ftbuddha:
50ftBuddha Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2015
Thank you so very much for the watch Frito.
Reply
:iconnawkaman:
nawkaman Featured By Owner Nov 25, 2015
thank you kindly for the fave-y faves and other self-descriptive things. like burger meat. or text message.

ahem. thanks.
Reply
:iconsiren-crypt:
siren-crypt Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
thanks for adding me to your watchlist. <3
Reply
:iconshedares:
SheDares Featured By Owner Jul 7, 2015  Professional General Artist
Thanks for the favs :heart:

Eins, cinco, treize, twelveMais je suis trop triste,
trop désolée pour
cette monde de
we ran for all we were worth                  
[ M I S T A K E S ]
                   but it was never enough
Y no hay fuerza...
¿Porque?
¿Para qué propósito me llaman
una chica buena cuando
soy un desastre?
we screamed until our throats were raw                 
[ B U R R I E D ]
                   but it was never enough
Und ich habe meine Glück geficken.
Dieses Scheiße ist
üb-er-all.
we dug until our fingers bled                       
[ A L I V E ]
        
Power lines// Maybe it's time we ran side by side //
                                         instead of logarithmically //
// forever converging yet never quite close enough to //
                                                      - t - o - u - c - h - //
// where χ^0=1 no matter what you use
                                   to mark that infamous spot of //
       // legendary treasure //
                               a marriage of ∞ //
                                 
Embracing destructionAnd we'll run with the fire
l e a p i n g   from out fingers,
licking $cArl3t, aMb3r,
g01d as the sunset
over a city turned to ash,
the rubble of a once stable mind,
marble pillars reduced to
ammunition veined with Nav¥
ink   w/e\a/v\i/n\g   silent curses,
cynical prayers, laughter
bordering on insanity
echoing, bouncing, ringing
clear into a desolate sky,
1v0ry fangs grinning dry humour.
                        Have I not entertained you
                        with my blades thrown at
                        closed doors and glass
                        shattered through
                        bare souls?
   
Reply
:iconfritob:
FritoB Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2015
Absolutely!
Reply
:iconshedares:
SheDares Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2015  Professional General Artist
:meow:
Reply
:iconbedlamfornow:
bedlamfornow Featured By Owner May 19, 2015   Writer
Thank you for the watch. :heart:
Reply
:iconfritob:
FritoB Featured By Owner May 19, 2015
Thank you!
Reply
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