This is a poem-a-day blog.
Each day, I am going to write some lines or thoughts or poem-like things (I am hesitant to call them poems... they might be prose-y, or lists, or something along those lines) that have gone through my head. I am not making this public for feedback (though you are welcome to comment, of course! because it is a blog) so much as to provide a space for me to be forced via routine into organizing the words bouncing around. So clearly, if you participate in any type of art at all, you know that the concept of throwing your drafts and bits and pieces of things into the public sphere is a bit horrifying. But! I think that it will be an interesting experiment, and that I will mull stuff over a lot, and I haven't done it before.
So, to summarize--the stuff here won't be even remotely polished, or complete, or particularly well thought-out. But: maybe that uncertainty will make it more interesting, and hopefully it will inspire at least one person. Somewhere! You? Maybe.
So, here is today. (The bottom two things are not related to one another.)
---
Tide Me Over, Moon
balks a shy earth
at her own bareness. Waits
to be dressed in flame, in forest: her
evening epochs. The
attempts at apocalypse every
several thousand years are no
surprise:
it is hard to be alive so long,
to be an edible machine that runs,
that dances, that shudders; knows
loss.
---
she / wet and sullen and waiting /
clicks her fat-gem-heels like a prayer,
mews and brays at herself,
claws up-the-end-street
is desperate and delectable and
runs on oil and slime and
boy, don't act like you expected
a face--you got her
palms with no lines and /
dear,
nothing else grows /
here.
Each day, I am going to write some lines or thoughts or poem-like things (I am hesitant to call them poems... they might be prose-y, or lists, or something along those lines) that have gone through my head. I am not making this public for feedback (though you are welcome to comment, of course! because it is a blog) so much as to provide a space for me to be forced via routine into organizing the words bouncing around. So clearly, if you participate in any type of art at all, you know that the concept of throwing your drafts and bits and pieces of things into the public sphere is a bit horrifying. But! I think that it will be an interesting experiment, and that I will mull stuff over a lot, and I haven't done it before.
So, to summarize--the stuff here won't be even remotely polished, or complete, or particularly well thought-out. But: maybe that uncertainty will make it more interesting, and hopefully it will inspire at least one person. Somewhere! You? Maybe.
So, here is today. (The bottom two things are not related to one another.)
---
Tide Me Over, Moon
balks a shy earth
at her own bareness. Waits
to be dressed in flame, in forest: her
evening epochs. The
attempts at apocalypse every
several thousand years are no
surprise:
it is hard to be alive so long,
to be an edible machine that runs,
that dances, that shudders; knows
loss.
---
she / wet and sullen and waiting /
clicks her fat-gem-heels like a prayer,
mews and brays at herself,
claws up-the-end-street
is desperate and delectable and
runs on oil and slime and
boy, don't act like you expected
a face--you got her
palms with no lines and /
dear,
nothing else grows /
here.
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