As Is What Was is a collection of poems created with no thought at all. None. There is no control over grammar, sound, rhythm, idea, or anything really. Why? I thought it would be fun. Is it insane? Absolutely.

The library burned down on the 6th of December, 1884

When the waters lapped at the pages and they toiled on the floors

On all fours they worried, they were concerned that the ink

Would spill so far it’d make the oceans stink

 

Thus they decided, all except for one, that they’d strike a match

And strip it all. Undone. Peel it back. Oh the nudity

Of knowledge so hoarded. Now whoring in the oceans

As all but one had supported

 

Now little did they understand how the kingdom would react

The wales, the turtles, the octopi all smacked

Their lips and they gurgled for they were turned on too

They’d never seen something so beautiful. So wilfully nude.

 

For they had all been impressed upon in quite heavy ways

Ancient ideas and ancient estates

No erosion. No lapping. No drip drip drip.

They were alcoholics who just thought they’d have one sip

 

These poor little creatures, naive and so sure!

Had no bloody idea that they were the real whores

They thought this was their gift. Their right. Their beliefs!

All the power at the tips of their fins. Sweet relief.

 

Oxygen so fresh it’d bring tears to the mountains

The snow goats had no coats to hide from them

And those prideful lions and splendid ‘phants

Had no idea of the waves that were packed with sycophants

 

The trees. The farmlands. The volcanos too!

Each blade of grass would be accrued

And crude would be the end – the bitter end of it all

Sweet would be the oceans in which the bones will fall