Murmuration

My thoughts span in morphing murmurations of flutterstruts swelling

 soaring conceptions pouring liquid fascinations out the mysterious

 funnel-hole tunneling through this meat pocket, 

 out to spanning swirls of starscapes spinning endless cores of creation

 burning black holes of twisting souls through the meat sponge filters

 of meager existence

Gliding on the tiny wings of flapping thoughts lapping waves

 of brave expansive ocean glades that trickle through in tickle notions

Massive mental pensive potions 

Drip drip dripping permeations

Building up in murmurations

Morphing all the dwarfing dwells

 of meat sponge spontenations

Into grandiosing grossing gaseous cosmic cause exploding never-ending

 mental-bending fluxion floating in impending meat cluster suction blending

 with the massive master sending all the notions of the oceans

 whose implosions sent us here

In morphing murmurations stirred upon a sky so clearly

To paint our swooping saintly grouping sights in smearing

 flights of fleeting unimpeding feats of fascination

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

great alliteration used here to drive home the point...even without much substance, many of us write anyway...and what we write is no better than a murmur...and from nothing often we make something...our meager existences make for poetic wonder. Perhaps if we were all well off in life, there would be no poetry.

profound piece...

j.

[Crispy]

Thank you most kindly... and without much experience is right. So often my days are devoid of notable experiences, and I must sway further into creativity to write something worthwhile. Nothing beats daily practice though, even when there's little else to the day.