Hour Five (This one shows up on my profile before the end of the marathon but for some reason doesn’t show up on my activity feed. Is strange. Here is the screenshot of the original posting. Not sure what I fouled up on in posting…

Hour Five Memories tucked into my breast pocket left and close to my heart they flutter like eyelids just waking from slumber- fractured images play upon the screen of consciousness a remembrance and tribute to a life once lived the ancestors of self that passed…

Hour Twenty-Four (had to repost because I accidentally deleted the original that was posted at 8:44 am EST I had a horrible case of the dumb) It’s not so much about the carnal the jutting hips and softness of breast and the iron ripples of…

Hour Twenty-Three My brain is pudding a casserole of deliberation charbroiled musings a culinary art. A souffle of hapless meanderings sticking to the bottom of the deadpan stare of a sleep-deprived wordsmith. I take the spatula of resolve and chisel away at metaphors- with eyes…

Hour Twenty-Two The future is written with invisible ink and solidified by the permanence of our choices and action.

Hour Twenty-One (Digitally Found Poetry) One look and you’re mine a cluster of one building chemistry with dark intentions- lucid dreaming a spiritual spy watching to see if words alleviate the affliction. One must never give up and trust God’s timing- know one’s value and…

Hour Twenty Inspiration= “Cluster One” Pink Floyd 5:43 Hot are the rivers running through scaled eyes blinded by the serpentine motivations and macabre machinations of the world of today every day lacking the promise of tomorrow. Lord, hear our prayers as we silently wilt our…

Hour Nineteen 3:45 Dizdain Form Will you hold my hand as time passes on, or will you let go and lead me to fall? Will you remain with me in breaking dawn, or will you balk and lead me to nightfall? Will you love above…

Hour Eighteen 3993 Sun-stroked gardens season stained carpets of variegated color- the clean scent of greenery and herbs a pleasant arousal to the senses. The Chickweeds gather in droves clucking away with banter cleaving to the Cleavers until Evening Primrose. Goats Rue the interruption while…

Hour Seventeen I am convinced flies have genetic memory to the swatter- dashing through the air landing upon naked skin crawling a constant hum of buzzing afflicting my quiet. I pick up the swatter and the nerve-grinding melody ceases. I scan the room and cajole…