659 9 6
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It’s good to have some,
Extra weight -
Something they can
Grab on to,
In the sheets,
When it’s late-
|
9775
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Comfort in Poetry The only comfort I've ever derived from a poem was from a poem that made me acutely uncomfortable. The Eighteenth Century The eighteenth century had lousy sewage removal but better whores. The Fearful Writer If you are fearful, you have…
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474106
|
The trees would answer with a creak and a crackle.
Fall was near, a rotten apple.
|
47675
|
For a man with a poor command of English, he managed
to describe his recent redundancy with aplomb.
“One week, everything perfect; the next week –”
He mimicked a noose being fixed around his neck and
I sat and watched his eyes bulge.
|
36332
|
Not a fuss, not a stink,
The eulogy, deep, will make one think,
Grandmother, sat in back, will wink
|
10195
|
I no longer know what anything means.Not that that matters. It doesn't. Misspeak.It's all the rage. Don't go for broke, go for broken.Whom the gods would destroy they first make timid.I was thinking of a word I can no longer remember.It began with “k.”…
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7733
|
Before the flood, the chaos was sufficient. Beavers played with squirrels as in original nature. Reptile blood flowed where mammals' milk had spilled. Caravans of poems crossed deserts of rhyme settling in papier-mâché orchards where Frau Spittle whispered, “The…
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3881413
|
Let me say these words now
|
32354
|
Star-eaterHere lies the star-eater.Tilting on the ancient wheelof summer-glaze-breath,you speak the oceans. Fire's the mealfor you, the star-eater. You defy death,and out of your mouth, a universe openspouring forth, as fleet as the starslight on your tongue. Space…
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237109
|
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19354
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A poem not about fog written in fog with an erasable pen.
|
8454
|
Because I was not sure if the poet had said yearn or urine, I zoomed in on her mouth as she commanded the lectern...
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