a prose poem


"Boom. He Will."







in the backseat of my car
she kept her spaceship,
we cruised around Earth and the moon.
We were caught up in it,
just couldn’t get enough,
so overwhelmed and happy about the whole thing.
And it was everything.

It was all there was.


The lens into the mouthpiece of the ghost

is through ironed-clad clothes,

with the right sound of her hair,

right from up there.


                      The way to the moon is necessary

               if you want to make all the fun things laugh; it’s best you take a chance; it’s best you make profit of your time by doing what is right, in accordance with the mottos, in accordance with the proverbs;

        you can do more than try; but you must know what you can do; if you can’t do something, there is no point in trying. the possibilities are endless. Infinite.

   The throne is ransacked. It’s not ruined. There must be something that can be done about it. “Do.”


That was Philips’s first recognition right after taking on the spell of infinite power. Boom. Horizons. He became a doctor. Then he said, well, he’ll do it.














by Ben Bussewitz

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