National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/26: “at a distance, on a bench”

here, come here, sit beside me, i have so much to tell you, so much i have seen that i want you to have seen at my side. here, take it, take my hand, tell me what you’ve seen and heard, remind me what our names are and don’t let the others know. here, say it, say everything now, everything you’ve kept inside, words we never thought to say or thought were better left unsaid.…

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National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/25: “more than ninety-one years ago”

tell me some thing you know. what? anything. anything at all. our average life expectancy is fifty-eight years. mine isn’t. don’t. well, it isn’t. you can have my extras; i’ll live twenty-five years, and you’ll live to be ninety-five. you mean ninety-one. i won’t regardless. why? either we’re both ninety-one, or neither of us is. i can’t imagine a “neither.” perfect. then we’ll both live forever. take your medicine. what for? because you have sixty-eight…

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National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/24: “widower”

hey there, pretty face. i haven’t seen you in a couple years, have i? not since i put you under. i dug into the dirt for you. i used my nails, my clawing hands, because i couldn’t bear the thought of not being the last to see your face. pictures speak a thousand words. your laugh fires a thousand synapses; looking down at you once more, like this, i can almost hear it again. i…

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National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/23: “brianne”

she sits in sunshine, resplendent, her garden flowering around her, a living golden-haired persephone, eye of her sweet flora hurricane. she is a warm, kind bitch, who strokes ivy leaves with the same hands that can so easily curl into split-knuckled fists. darling, darling of spring and summer, bringer still of dead winter and dying fall, touch hearts like you touch your plants and bring these rotted pulses back to life. her wife stands in…

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National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/22: “mass extinction”

stars, streak, hurtle past, i’m going home, at sweet long last— i’ve miles to go before i sleep, centuries long and oceans deep— i’m coming to the promised land, swift and hard and back of hand— clear the path for my way home, a landing site, no more i roam— one track mind, now, burning up, see every ill-fated crisp buttercup— through the atmosphere, and closer now, but i won’t be stopping anyhow— cleanse the…

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National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/21: “one brief, shining moment”

peering around a curtain, through the veil, there, the glittering city of camelot awaits, the king and queen on their thrones, on the dais, awaiting their last child. the king’s skull is cracked open, flesh peeling away from the jagged edges, brains erupting from the hole left behind, dripping down into a grinning, personable mouth. the queen’s gown is infamously splattered, her skin made-up, unblemished, and wrinkled, a sparkling lady with flesh dripping from her…

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National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/20: “major depressive”

scene: the fields pastoral, rural prairie, dreamscape, entrapments of the mind and body clouding the whirring brains of the actors. hazy, foggy thoughts, limbs moving through water, everything a farce, a pretend-game, ‘speak your lines to me and i’ll say mine back.’ real life, she’s so close, she’s getting closer every day, she’s awakening from her dream and letting her heartbeat settle in reality. she was not herself, before, but let her be her now;…

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2019 Reading Challenge Book Reviews

12/30: Lincoln in the Bardo

Trap. Horrible trap. At one’s birth it is sprung. Some last day must arrive. When you will need to get out of this body. Bad enough. Then we bring a baby here. The terms of the trap are compounded. That baby also must depart. All pleasures should be tainted by that knowledge. But hopeful dear us, we forget. 5/5 stars to “Lincoln in the Bardo” by George Saunders. Ren said to me just last week…

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National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/19: “predestination”

selfish patroclus, how dare you keep the king from us, golden-haired and strong-limbed, just because you love him? has he not a life string? has he not a prophesied fate? has he not been promised to the gods, once he is finished among the mortals? you may not take that from us, that which you do not understand, patroclus, for he is an ocean boy, godling, and he belongs in the mountains and skies. selfish,…

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National Poetry Writing Month, 2019 Poetry

4/18: “Redux”

Oh, beautiful for spacious skies, for endless seas of blue, for desperation, human cries, hands reaching out to you! America! America! We lay our claim on thee! And take thy woods sans brotherhood from sea to shining sea! Oh, beautiful for pilgrim feet, who stomp down off their ships, a European bastard fleet, with demands on their lips! America! America! Sweep dust beneath your rugs! Blacken thy soul with stolen coal! for deified thieving thugs!…

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