I slide a pen against the pages ‘til abilities are honed
beyond the blades of razors paper cuts can touch the bone
angel dust is never shown because of heaven’s housekeeping
so I don’t know what they’re smoking since the name is misleading but
whatever imaginary hand touches creativity
I’m thankful for the fingerprints that land in my vicinity
I do know for a fact that the bats in the belfries
are thankful every time I go to write because it helps me
come to healthy inspiration, looking out the window
with the hazel-painted glass stained the day they built this temple
if the pencil tips beyond an angle parallel to therapy the scribbling breaks the glass and grains are cast upon the balcony
when angels pass in front of me the shutter speed changes the double takes are just a way to conversate amazement
if I could make this poetry as beautiful as some of you, I’d write until the world is beyond a paper shortage
tips would be eroded to needlepoint precision givin’ blackened gel injections of WallyJac’s enjoyment
I’d hang my inspiration over the door so if you enter let my soul embrace you focus let the present moment kiss you
your interest is formally more than a reward for me wipe your reservations on the welcome mat of dormancy
as far as I’m concerned the spoken work is (border) sorcery a forum where the gods are born performing art accordingly
casting spells making sure the letters are in order WallyJac the foreign soldier, thermos full of orange soda
bonded to the homestead, anomaly to family, finding liberation in the sock the master handed me
time’s the imitation witness ordering the images vacantly expressing limitations with our ignorance
& when it gets late I lay some life into the mirror
a time-stamped capsule of any given second
any pen that hits the record reflects a moment that had molded me
the past becomes nearer, paragraphs grow in potency
pieces of me live in every word ever written
color pours immortal over tapestries of language
the captioning is ageless,
evading timetables
weightless
as the fantasies fighting for control of me
the pen eventually runs dry with fluid ounces absent the cursive bends have ended when the riverbed’s a casket
bask in life’s potential energy, mobilized by purpose expression is the universal method to convert it
I’m a power surge that’s evidence of human supernovas, blood flowin through my veins at the speed of light I’m radiant
The mind remains so advanced it’s a waste of time explaining it
My thoughts are food to higher gods, breath is what they pay me with
Angels sit and dangle fishing lines of inspiration
Briared vines of mind invasion move adjacent to the stream of conscious waters flowing gracious on accomplished author’s brains &
all this plays a role in what I’m writing on the pages
The strokes will never soften though I’m out of space for writing
I’ve siphoned each remaining piece of creative speech for rhyming
Sliding pens against the pages northeast to southwest without questioning how many sheets are left to spread a melody
the last page is one thing but writer’s block would be the death of me
my destiny is painted pixilated over angel wings so when they fly together you can see where life is taking me
I’m thankful for the vacancies that challenge my expansion
The gaps within my spirit that illuminate reflection
The passion keeps me documenting any living instant
I draft a paragraph connecting pleasure with commitment
potent to the bone yet poetic to the fiber I’m a writer for the point of never losing what has made me
embracing what defines me ever-changing understanding captivated daily
MonuMental 