Wednesday, January 08, 2020

In January, a poem made from a list of words, an exercise

“progress is a comfortable disease” –e.e. cummings

good morning
imagine sweetness
a quick kisser
salted representability
a molecule of ocean

where blue, white, or
a prism
speckled mist

birds know the difference
those not extinct, that is
verbena swells
against grey feelings
a coffin, unannounced

teeth don’t decompose at the same
rate, squirrels thick for winter
layered over time
while species burn

progress, eating garbage like gulls
or gw bush, strumming a guitar and
painting, hobbies of mass destruction
ignorant bystanders still longing
for quaint catastrophes

who will save us
swallowing water
obedient descendants of this

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