#8 The Third Herd is Thinning

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.


Play in the grass they were told the third herd is thinning

Think not of how the pyramids were erected in to whelped innings

They might their self hatred despite their spied rings

Pretend ain’t no fetcher would like to right kings

And amplified things felt not wanting for riches

They mounted their Arabians and galloped for four chorses

Melding of vocals and spices – no morsels

Feasts for beasts keasting in silks run from fine forces

Why yes their schemes were never tightened with rope

For they were raised in deserts from which they never elop’d

They dint need t’know bends or twists or spliced hopes

Oases have a bit of the ol theatre tropes

So you shall dance and stutter till the words have no meaning

Break apart the little bits of flesh that stay seething

Creep past the mentors that ave no methods for madness

They’ll rub gas in your gashes and prescribebe you smoke sashes

Don’t let them stand their ground when they could yet be sinking

Shirking past the bleachers were the jerseys dyed in bleeding

And sheep were settle easily no friars could bequeath

Thy rusty sword scabbard stabbed the scabs beneaht sheets


Pause for percussion like the sky does for shooting stars

Hilts dangling from fangled wrankled silly spars

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