Conception

Conception

You
can only see a person’s finished work the end result the words
of fitted lines the frames the rhymes. Not the research lines the
subtitles the erased words in the rubber mind the long list of things
to add forgotten no epic made this time the thing is just another
CharlaX added to the list on the last place people look when they are
given time to browse. The lines dot out to intersect in spatial
finesse as if it is the artistes’ conception of the rings of
the universe. Add some color the long think lines become the blue
ones turning purple on the ends the thin ones yellow out to read the
normal lines becoming black as ink and turning white on page. There
is a little dab of do you can you see it in the middle of the
imagined lines that blotched ink blotted out of all the missing
letters the misspellings and the wish fers just lying there its hard
now to describe the color gone transparent non but opaque a word eye
like to use is fine. The missing lake. The part of eye the tumor did
not eat. The Circle drawn in the center of the lines must represent
the finished poem all the intersecting coming from the hub to
represent the meat. They meet. At center of the storm of life. To
form a poem from CharlaX.