in the clouds

sometimes the studio happens other places
and sometimes these posts are poems

one of these eggs are real

or
what color is robins egg blue?
or
what color
is anything
a color?
anymore?
this is turning into another poem...
another poem about my family
but it's a long one
so i'll limk to it when it's done
(because at the moment
i am being waaaaaaaaaaay too literal)

pea poem

trying something new
as with all beginnings
it's a bit rough around the edges
i know what the problems with it are
(a little too labored, not enough flow, a bit too literal)
but i have to start somewhere...

a piece of it

Last Day On Planet Earth

Lippincott takes a photograph with his eye.
Wittmann paints in the crust of salt with a finger of spit.
Yoshioka wheels the last piano onto the fire.
Owens throws stones at a rock.
The afternoon turns over in its sleep, then sleeps.

Kirszenstein trades her kingfisher skull for a tinned peach.
Jerome traps air in a screw-top jar.
Bambuck plants the last of his teeth.
Johnson dresses his gangrenous wound with a carrier bug.
Bolt pulls up the ladder, secures the hatch.

-Simon Armitage