Get at me

A said a hip, hop.

A burst of prose, freestyle verb, that looks like a poem.

Indentation paradoxically clear. You do not care for rhyme or

structure. “But what about rhythm?” you ask, and I

reply, “How about grammar,” and then a long pause.

But apparently time weighs gravity so forgot about

commas, and think about karma.

But what of fonts? And no Common Law?

And no Spell Check?

and bolder claims like soldier’s brains being

brave enough to entertainment the landscape

of no caps - g’s denoting geniae forming all the

scraps that phi and pi, alchemae, et cetera

would dare horderve or promote lest

Sublime

propels

NO CAPS TO GO ON REWIND, AND

refind the same frame of mind reminding

third eyes, all walks of life, of the power to

create new colors, shapes, flavors, forms,

make true genres, stories, chambers, worlds.

Never-Feast

freestyle

forever, ye.

Get at me.