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 flutterbys are out again

What sweet scent dollows in their wake

The sun seems to reflect quite differently off of them

It doesn’t burn the wax in their wings

There is no garish sense of treasure

No fashion administration of the atmosphere

But why do I see a veil

And what does it beckon?