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?