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| If all you see is what you know, never believe what the con man says because this is the now of nowhere, the here of the ins and outs of the weaver's threads threads shimmering in a tapestry of vibrant sound of fear for the clump of horses I couldn't hear what I sing to, and cannot share-- sing only when we knew he could hear the laughter is a big fat until she lost dog is howling painfully at the dull glint of an angry woman's eye dries your childish tears of joy of play with and of the other ways have oft been tried resulting in and everlasting cycle of life and death. --An Exquisite Corpse exercise |
More Exquisite Corpse exercises
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One shameless dishwasher expectorates One putrid mammoth. |
The dreamy mountain goat contemplated our blended painting. |
a light pressure cooker contemplates one parked automobile |
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The pock-marked serenade directs a dangerous Jennifer |
Their hurried creation prioritizes the shivering conundrum |
An ubiquitous policeman ringing the fifty-five enlightenment. |
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Troublesome times, these Not with evil intent, but intent benevolent gifts that clearly ring out with willingness to take a chance and open my heart to my slave the envelope lies everyday when I asked her what she is worried about him. Her in wet soft fur Rejoice to the heavens and universe with my brain screams in unison I sang tho I did not believe, and you will see, everything there is to me, not you or the trees, me. If you say what you see and give what you mean and lowdown dirty blues blues, baby, I just singin' the blues. --Yet another Exquisite Corpse |
And the Creativity goes on...
with a graceful sort of
laugh out loud, and feel the joy run like
syrup so sweet and sticky only mother
could have been somebody, instead I
gotta have it here and now Batman
Batman, a brooding hero, or is he that
shining
is the armor that charges my
blindside, sighted, barely knowing where and
with whom we chose to live our lives with
forever more is not the name of
that day
she loved having company around when
she is the woman I love to fear, I call her dear
remember the dreams of other
lives that live.
The clock runs backwards
until it rolled back into my lotion craving
hands upon the chocolate
cake and cookies, heaped together in holy
matrimony, the certain death that
makes the fakery mistaken, makes
the music of my saxophone sweet and low
low down dirty dealer, not fit to shine
my
life in the hands of fear what will be deaths choice this
year and dreams well spent, but chasing
endless search for that one person
longing for the taste of Starbucks
coffee was
her car blew up to blew up to smithereens
and she
looked around, her thoughts unsound yet life abounds
inside the many dreams.
(c) Copyright It Plays in Peoria Productions 2000