Ian Hatcher

Mums are dead. Mother December

Matt was here tonight freezing Marshall Fields Frango
Watching Criss Angel walled up and a mound of cheeze all over Panama

Paris Match is full of shit and sanity hangs in a basket
artfully arranged. How come oatmeal tastes like gruel? Huh? Come
with me to Colombia. Don't want to see you forgetting--splayed and

porked out in a tub of Doesn't Ring A Bell

Opening Sources is an internet poem written continuously by anonymous authors. You may click any word and alter it to whatever else you'd prefer. Your changes will appear instantly to anyone else with the site open and be visible to subsequent readers.

You are encouraged to try to "improve" the poem you found here. What this might mean is up to you.

The writing process began in April 2008. Edits are not monitored for content or logged. Once overwritten, previous versions of the poem disappear forever.

On occasions this poem is read live as a performance. In these events, the poem is projected on a screen and the audience is invited to edit the text while it is read aloud repeatedly. A loop of feedback forms as the audience takes uncertain control over its collective voice.

— Ian Hatcher / ianhatcher.net