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