singpowrimo
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Finally, you’ve found me. No, sorry: I don’t have all the answers. The ones I do – hoverboards don’t exist. Yes, you grow even taller. You become taller than even Father. No, I’m still single. Yes, you get to buy Power Rangers CDs. Yes, there’s still Pokémon, and yes, Ash still hasn’t won the league.
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Lying on the communal bed miles from home and desperate, I bash myself into other conversations, extend earphone tentacle smuggled under sock; laughs at the cover, I swear it’s good, track 14, I listen to it in the shower at home, more laughs; friends whose names I’ve forgotten ask what it’s about, I try to
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on the elevator she steps aside, lets others into the gantries first. she hasn’t seen a mirror in years: in the dark, she feels about her shape, is satisfied with being. what was her name? she knew it was a saint’s. it just had to be. in the dark she swallows even without being asked.
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I. I was the first, one of the first. But you know first one’s a fool. Who’s gonna get in line? First one to go, first one to fight the way. We lived in the throat of death every day. Where you’re criminal because of who you are. “These people ain’t gonna do nothing for
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first, to visit, you have to be lost. second, there will be no guide, so open your eyes. the lake before you is just a diversion. watch out for the lonely boat, beating itself against the shore. check below the seat. there, you shall find an oar and or a map. it doesn’t matter. row
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You bottled message parlor woman. You crackled knuckle. You tremulo. I am divining josses in your will. I am folding you into a boat. I am paying Father to take a short trip. To look elsewhere. Oh, you cloud of jade. You page of filled out crossroad answers. You wreath of drawers. You little wreck
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First of all, throw what you don’t need. Do not recycle – save this poison from the Earth. No more travel brochures, guides, photos. No more newspaper clippings of dream destinations. Those only breed silverfish. Next, make a commitment. Never let clutter in again. Do not let it stay. Do not let it set. No
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written for Alt Txt – Experimental Poetry workshop, conducted by Desmond Kon Title taken from Rainer Maria Rilke’s The Sonnets to Orpheus, No.18 14 fixed words (although I guess I should have shifted stanza 1 to make a spine with stanzas 2-4) Should come back and edit this some day
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Holes 1. When the holes started popping up so did the epiphanies. Men and women rushing to the mountain, eager to find where they fit. When it showed up on the telly I wanted to switch it off – but there I was, rewinding and rewinding the footage, trying to see if anyone I knew
ugly stage 