Word Poems Wriggle

It rained last night and it will rain again and again after each dry spell - the planet has always understood the benefits of hydration. The ground of being, being mind-clay will reconfigure a muddy tale, then poetry (or whatever speaks in riddles and earthy visons claiming to be the most profound of witless squiggle’s) will surface to inscribe its thoughts upon a fluid reality. Writhing, writing worms will raise their blind heads in praise of the compliancy of all deconstructed worlds; they will carol in the newly wetted shallows as God muses together all potentially squirmy realities, ones that can be read as an outward appearance, and evidence of yet more superficial churnings.