Art and poetry on page and stage



Micah Ballard


This is a song
of iterations, after images
eclipsed by a tendency
to shift toward their own compliment
I enter whichever one refuses welcome
you too can leave if you will
I was meant to loot the system
not the wants but the their walls
waypoint recitals contagious in mood replay
the necessities are always random
as soon as they're mixed
everything else is neutralized
I seem to prefer it wayward
one thumb off the money
the other borrowed by likeness
the resemblance is in the distance
no discount for loyal thinking
but this is how you do