Brownian Motion

“write a poem,”
comes the directive
from the voice up

high, amidst particleboard
desks and two
dimensional sunlight

hands flail unthinking
across cheap plastic keys
in rhythmic click-clacking
of nothingness I write
rivers of phonemes

trailing into literary sunsets,
stanzaic freeform ―

liberated from
rhyme or reason

a pasquinade,

a metaphorical
colorburst of absurdity

among the greats
an imposter

pretending