Unchecked creativity is shaken (not stirred.)
Collected six feet above hell in a bubble hem,
far beyond oatmeal…far beyond mud…
hardly daring to breathe she finds good food.
Organic rains cotton tangerines. Floral fleece
screams at strangers, “You can’t tell a jack from a king!”
Shaken not stirred, she follows the script.
Luxe wool reaches over a slightly 60’s flap cap
Run the unguardable diamonds;
your hand isn’t strong enough.
You don’t know jack? You don’t know junk mail?
You wouldn’t (zig zag) cut it today.
Chunky supreme, non-stop passion
irks her like heel-clicking wrestlers.
For a German missile moment
we all float with zero distractions
(with her) shaken not stirred.
I know every poet is in love with their own words but these words were merely selected and rearranged by moi, adding a ‘you’ or changing a verb tense where I saw fit! I had too much fun simply circling words from 2 magazines and 2 newspaper sections to see what I could make of it! I am digging this fresh & imaginative way to use language. Why not suspend your critical censor and need for logical development and try a cut-up poem yourself? It’s the secret language of your unconscious…ooooohh