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the State of Anapamu

pallet
 
If you want readers,

–if you really do–

skip pen & paper,
 
 
Like a stone

and kibosh keypunch,

hunt and peck and hunt and peck and

forget every shade of black and white there is, too, or at the very least smudge it,

and hunt and peck and hunt

a little

employ its outline, and

peck

at most, and then

immediately dry erase,

creating some double-duty diversion to redirect—say:

Look over there! Is that (a) well-aimed bookend coming for ya?

as an unconscious reader is

>this close<

to sub-text

and write in color!

High definition color!

Technicolor

ahh

color!

Code that chrome

poem

and

pantone those

prose pair a’ graphs

and

Tem·pur·ify this tittled

text, and

–f*ck ‘em if they call it graffiti, because is it really?

There’s nothing gray about it, and any true feat involved in an ersatz emoji world,

It’s in Webster’s now

the better.

emoji

The more hue·manity

–the best.

©Karen Robiscoe

 

 

 

 

Grit yer Teeth

hendry's
 
a broken hourglass,

and running the sands of time

so

shore footed, but

<<<<<<<<looking back

I can sea-weed’s a problem for me
 
 

Salt water ducks, too

and it tripped me up…

kelp!

(I yelled)

kelp!

(was felled)

thinking all along

weed-sea

what’s what…

©Karen Robiscoe

This = That

Lyres Make Beautiful Music

Lyre

e harmony

rejected me

and match dot com don’t mix…

the fb thing

makes my heart sing,

or projectile sick…

the only tingle

from Christian singles,

is damaged nerve in hand

a wound that I

got

going “blind”

–but–

woo! did it feel grand.

the tinder app

is

just a map

for hooking up with nookie

the range of stranger

sex for grabs

ill-suited to the rookie.

so I’ll retire

myself

FOR HIRE

and gimble in my wabe

what the hell

it’s just as well

though I’m a sexy babe.

©Karen Robiscoe

2 ¢

If 1 of my senses

must be impaired,

I opt for the common

since common’s not rare,

keeping the extra-

-sensory close,

perception’s the tool

I rely on the most.

if 2 of my senses

were taken away,

the next would be

text book,

oh aye, & oh neigh

my horse sense would

canter up to the block,

and though I liked riding

I’m okay to walk.

If still yet another

sense would be lost,

incense is the sense

I’d certainly toss,

’cause fresh air is better

–it never needs lighting

is smoke free and sweeter

and much more inviting.

by Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: senseless

Bard Between the Lines

me imprison
 
Library police

bust offenders for

un·seamly acts, they

profile

mal·contents

in the most

forward manner, they

target
 
 

The Borrowers

more than a little, they

pose no burning questions whatsoever

–just tick off index

before booking them into

Library Jail…

a bad ending, to say the least

a Page Purgatory populated

by career speed readers,

whose readout is overdue nevertheless

by textbook losers, bye

chronic book mark·ers, by

bloated pieces of work with

bad ink & dog earrings,

in the write ear

pretty much exclusively.

©Karen Robiscoe

Poker Tells

booksmall

stories need readers

–but reading’s not static…

the saga that’s sensed

depends on schematics,

since lines read

and minds read

are different in layout,

the reader in

need of

perception to say out—

–loud what the tale is,

the plot, and the premise,

though tea leaves

perceived

prefer pots & tempest,

and runes strewn

are no boon

without a clairvoyant,

as lined palms

want shaman

or else just annoyance…

while books and

the looks on–

–faces are altered,

by author

> of either <

not reader,

nor watcher,

since what’s

“loud and clear”

can act out a riot,

and “it” reads

like weeping,

if doubtful–just try it

yes, reed is the

~mouthpiece~

for writing on wall,

the fine print

bears squinting,

or don’t read at all.

©Karen Robiscoe