On the notion of illusion, I don’t speak of fact, I speak of Truth in algorithms of math. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I face the Wind that howls with me and whisper my Blues to be printed as Free. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ To surf with the echoes in the meadow, you see, would be genuine visions of gumdrops on trees.… Continue reading PART EIGHT
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October
Watch now, Watch Free, View me explode. Tune in, Turn out, And prepare to reload. Create space between your fingers and grasp for the group, Don’t mention the colors you obtain for proof. Lie there, Lie still, Countless suspects foot the bill. Running red, The negativity spreads, The house becomes drenched in one, tiny threat.… Continue reading October
Ж
I am Kendra, & this is so–— I bellow it deeply & repeat costumes from my drawer. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ My well of emotions is from the whole of my control— I find it odd to label what is not of one’s own— Then why do I claim the words as mine known— when in actuality it… Continue reading Ж
Olympic Flame [The Torch]
It’s all Greek to me on a humble escape stumbling home. A cave of sightless allegory, yet Spirit fondly overheard. Wind sings sweetly of sound wings carrying the Songbird. It’s held in vase — service to the listener takes notes on how to fly over & then with her. The Wild pines to lead conical… Continue reading Olympic Flame [The Torch]
***Stardom***
Melodicism fused with eager anticipation; Falling in love despite onerous offenders. Name and claim your musician style and let the bio reflect thus uniquity. Your intention should speak to the listener in the same Voice as your heart. Skating on the balance of less and more. Let’s Dance. It’s our autobiography, and I am happy… Continue reading ***Stardom***
A Series of Self: Kendra, Pt. V
The motion of joy is the choreographer of my soul. Once open to arriving, I had no need to visualize a door. For, like the butter, I could not believe that I was the Homeowner and also, the Key. Oh! How foolish it would be! To be matter of fact! To be like a deck… Continue reading A Series of Self: Kendra, Pt. V
Will, Son!
Radiant is thou, wafting through the forest; I remember the time we pranced around fellow tourists. I judge when I live, so I think while I breathe. I dislike a taste for negativity, & question my pity for the green— Where are the echoes? Must I always pick up on the universal radio?… Continue reading Will, Son!
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