April 12, 2015

#NaPoWriMo 2015 no.11

this Winter in order not to freeze, I got an old computer to burn too

I am squeezing life 
from its dirty screen  
from its ancient (computer time) 
memory to its dust encrusted
it still allows
me some poetry and pornography
some wise woman big trunk love
in animated and repeating imagery...

eyes hook
field unattended 

my will is impure 
finds my adulterating 

this Winter
my morals were 
slush oscillations 
cold and slow...

be it beaches 
or southern
inland sea tongues
a river reaches 
rain and temperate forest trees
drawing quartered seasons 
for perspectives to please...

how many farthings 
have I got 
to extend my life
most fantasies 
have steep costs 
for coloring 
outside the lines...

this Winter was rust and rasp 
old forge file real peeled raw exposed
just so I don't forget 
how lurching mankind 
seems to be, roman senate-esque 
east coast united states 
push what it can 
strip the good mother fumble 
be curious beyond a clever honest intent 
sell the story and go away 
be art in the shadows for awhile...

as we ( should I say our? ) 
maybe just my own humanity 
keeps asking if a few fish still fly?...
and if so might that be good enough 
for sate, saint 
and subatomic bones 
for skin and scent 
are we or am I 
choosing rhythm melody 
as the run-on sentence 
the section played 
beneath chords...

far out weighs 
dousing myself 
to light on fire 
in the comics 
stealing time 
to piece together 
infinity harvesting
and blinks...

I'll reflect on that 
for awhile 
and get back to you
I am going to watch 
another selfie movie 
or two...


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