Poems and poetry as experiential art experiments, created by a dedicated core, sparking consciousness river, word slurry. A harvest of poems and creative thought from a creative collective cadre.
Also, not the mined kind. Other kinds of gold: the way the sun dazzles the still-not-fallen birch leaves in the neighbor's yard, which for this reason stand out blazing and wind-flickering against the grey rain sky. Gold like the way the honey crisp apple, mostly red, stripes itself banana-amber. Gold as my hair, that gold. : )