#77 Brick

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.


What brick amounts to much

Can it sound enough

Be round enough

To actually take shape?


The wear and tear

The cracks in the extremities

Place themselves in ways

That deceive the eye

Oh the high flying sediments

The ones that prefer to sit on wind

Sometimes settle unknowingly

The ways are far too complex for any sentient form to comprehend

Much less grasp in the palm of their –


Not every sentient form has hands after all


Nah, if that little brick went to the market

Who knows what sort of ruckus it could have caused?

In your usual Tolstoyan fashion – 

not to be confused with the movement

– one can only imagine the way it shift the world ever so slightly

Though let’s face it. It’s far simpler to say

“Fuck it. It’s a brick. Throw it.”


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