Having to turn heat back on. Ugh! #5amwritersclub

Fillable bits, but suddenly super position creates probability. So I tried standing in the same position as myself. A friend commented “that’s supercool”. And me being both alive and dead, I could attend my own attending, pretending that ending faster was something I ought to thought about lots.

Authors in tents. It’s a camping expedition. Are they, were they erudite? Can we, should we fly a kite? If I finally get it, am I in the club? Not if they have trees as members, on eroding banks of defining the undefinable. Not a competitive sport. It’s a meet cute of cuts, ands, buts, and oars.

Can’t stand too noble. Or perhaps our arrested tiktok crazies are best when lying down? From supine, you can divine so many evers and for evers. You’ll still need pretty good I sight, and also some you sight, possibly some oh oh sights, But first worry about your own awning, in the dawning of you.

It’s always 25 o’clock. Or we are stealth in our approach? Scythe and hourglass traded for a thin rectangle with wrecked angels, no longer watching. Cracked coverslips, not an issue. Sales gathering solds solidly. Old Man Time has a new gig, Death was shitcanned. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Vacate your vacation. Who needs writing time? Wringing hands over the smallest things. It’s proven time and no gain… in sane tea, steeping staples. A priori, in a prairie, without a prayer. Someday repeat freedom from gravity so we all freeform freely in the air, stroke, stroke #5amwritersclub #poem

I am king of myself and sometimes a jester. I have full expectation that my scepter fills spectres. But gosh, a ghost that is substantial can’t cover the spectrum of haunting. It’s as real as reels can be, watched in bed, as my kingdom swirls around me. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

What if you breathe in and out in the same take. Economy of moment, and in that, surprise and relief are the same thing. And if that moment should pass, shall we dissect it, yank its brain with hooks into jars, and store them in geometries? Pair, amidst. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Brain relaxing, and suddenly I’m a dog, napping midday, tongue safely lolling out of my mouth to the side. I’m a peeper, trilling my amphibious ambitions at night. And access to me is infinite, in the way lemniscates would make great rolling pins, forever impressing. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Daily Pug #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

No I won’t think words at 2:39am. Little bits of lexicon intrusive…. Ok, so maybe a few. And we’re off and running. Neurons firing, synapses rewiring, look think felt umwelt (poem) first of its kind and unburdened, sleep, signed me #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Reinventing heels. It’s the walk of life, except yeah, round things do make travel easier, faster, so we go further. I’d rather say in meter what I once rhymed in inches. What a crime, sublime, sub lines for single words, replace letters with books. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Life swallows whole now. Doesn’t even bother chewing. Squeezed in stomach juices, it takes awhile to disintegrate. “Hey we talked about this. Always chew your food!” As my skin disintegrates, I plan my devolution. Perhaps I’d fare better with a pair of sights. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Daily Pug. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Where’s my jamb? Box of unassigned keys. They can open anything. Or they can open nothing. I can jam one in my back and turn it, but without knowing where my jamb is, I could lock up. Jamb. Now my jam. Jammit… #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Daily Pug. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Here’s a little poem to hold the place of other bigger poems. I owe them, so we go then with the phloem and sky when ground is ground down. Don’t worry… the chips are good tinder for would cinders, and should hinders progress for sure, all shear. lent ears. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem #writers

Flipping louses like pancakes. Dredging grouses in shake n bake. Riding buses without reason. Rhymes despite seasons. Nonsensical, it all is, when we don’t know why things fit the way they do. So breakfast avian transport poems will be norm. Just until reform reforms. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Pug Daily #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Were gulf, transform almost complete. Mind against ideas, leaping away almost, barely kept corralled for consumption. Their hooves splinter portcullis asunder, trample dust, run wild. Free. Fear. Were gulf is coming. Every idea for id self. They’re safer this way. Or so my herd. #5amwritersclub

Daily Pug. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

BREAKING NEWS!! Cap’n Crunch with Core Power 42g elite chocolate poured over it is amazing. Level up! #capncrunch #captaincrunch #delicious

Daily pug. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Ere we go brag-less let’s clear a few things up. Hyperbole comes in many forms, and many worms churn more organic matter than a hatter. Mountain invert and fill the holes. What trolls! If I hear “awesome” one more time, loudest will be my silence, under bowls with candles. #5amwritersclub #poetry

The writening… it happens slowly, one drop, a splatter on your windshield or singular touch on your arm you may not notice until three, then twelve, then ideas quicken. You feel like you are forgetting more than writing, but then sun breaks and your face upturns, missing the deluge #5amwritersclub

Supplement poem, staves off word less, keeps things moving, Pow - awful aunty oxidant for all those arm tease stuck in EM dash mode. Poem in a pill, swallowed whole, whorling around in your head, concentric lexicon spiraling to this. And that #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Stays crunchy, even in ilk of despair. Squeezed from that pear. “Be fruitful and simplify,” they said, but the disparity of the parity was clear by all pear glances you skewed through easy, so I could stew on few felts… like being in a reel that congeals #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Oblique serve, swerve to words and head on derision. But why? It’s certainly easier to smile than to drown in a crown of scorns at the implied scourge, pried from the pied prepper as he readies objections to as of yet seen conflict and we’re all led out of town, #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

When the world expects less, expect rations. What to write when all has been written? Is land in sight, or surrounded by melt. Eye land cautiously. This and is our and… and… tortoise or hare in the middle, where the start and finish are twins #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Every me started writing at 453, and they couldn’t stop. The content was puzzling. We were all penning third and fourth drafts of each other’s histories. What our hands had failed to grasp, the words forged towards. The integration had begun. The cabal was gone. For now. #5amwritersclub #poetry

don't forget to leave out milk and cookies for the time monster tonight

Write me a poem of rip and tear. Write me a poem, fine Sir. Write me o poem, where nobody knows ‘em, where steins are filled frankly and smell is so dank, see? Write me a poem that shortens the tall, then we won’t need golems to write us at all. Write me a poem, fine Sir. #5amwritersclub #poetry

The cynics and smartest people in the room will always be there. Let your words fly anyway. You are a writer. #5amwritersclub

So many transmitters. I ripped off my antenna ages ago. It now makes an excellent pointer for chart presentations where I say “welcome to my SAID talk”. I figure if all things are past tense, I’m very accomplished. Been where, done squat, rote from books. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

My things, thinged. The creased edges, the singing surfaces surge tactical tactile in very practiced ways. I line up my things, tilt my head and go “Awwwww, my things”. I like my things just so, just so you know. They share my 3D in ways reluctant and resistant. They learned well. #5amwritersclub

To move forward, no forewarning, or aft warning. (But maybe aft warming :) The mystery steers when it’s mysterious. In the mist, mister must muster masterful not knowing. Because a stacked journey is false forward. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Let’s go with our guts on everything, flung, wetting every single thing ever singed by overthinking, dousing flames and flares and fears and fair. Why be medium ochre when you can eat flan static? Shaking uncontrollably, not stirred in conformity. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Tidal wave in the shower. Echo chamber thoughts. Better to have open space so there’s no reflection. And how far out to travel to ensure the reverb doesn’t return to me? Not sure. Empiricism schism. But I still need to scrape stubble from my face in the still between galaxies. #5amwritersclub #poem

Daily Pug. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Daily Pug Poem. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Everything is of concern. It wasn’t always this way. A dog barking in the distance, almost imperceptible, was quite acceptable. But now things are all canine in credible context and they seems to be moving in packs, circling. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

Blinking cursor pyramid amidst all these words and wry things and writings, and I’m wrapped within a warped thing, creating my own tomb or perhaps a bit of a blinking room, but this time the life after is one where cursors aren’t blocks and newbies weigh hearts against quills #5amwritersclub #poetry

You could write 136 poems, and I still would not be convinced of your truth. Evinced on a bed of let us confirm and re: affirm the infirmity you are letting slip during sleep or actively weeping. 137 maybe. Then we’ll talk. Until then, poor me, poem. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

#5amwritersclub #poem #poetry My daily poem.

Unfamiliar liars to us all. We listen to voices we’ve unheard all of our lives. Bokeh backdrop against broken waves and lengths and widths, eschew seeing as much as hearing, all outmoded, ala slice of pie, without forks, without plates, and mouths never invented #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry

No thru fucks. Route 11 becomes route ||. Parallel lines, never touching, same infinitease . Everyone arrives never, very clever until we realize we was binary all along and the path is 3, otherwise known as ||| #5amwritersclub

Bovine opine, in the field. Hear you, not mine, no one yields. Chew our cud and regurgitate for consumption. Sump pumps out the beef, no one has a steak in the game anyway. I feel better, the other udders are organic, unless they are moronic echo chambers of milk and cheese and do as you please.

I’m up, because I owe ‘em a poem. #5amwritersclub #poetry #poem

Hand up my own ass moving my mouth, saying the words, saving the worlds, metriloquist. Get quite the gist? Me tries to quit. The hand has other plans. sans #5amwritersclub

What do we call a moment that, no matter its complexity or manner of circumstance, no one will remember? If a person moves their hand left or right, or keeps still in the ache of the night, does is matter? Interpret this, intrepid torpidity, this petty existence. #5amwritersclub #poem #poetry