💾 Archived View for moldgold222.flounder.online › poetrymere.gmi captured on 2024-08-18 at 17:35:17. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
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alternating activity & acquiesce
worms that build shit in a bottle
corked with
moon wax presses
spring tide reseeds
tooth gap spit expands flow
like orthodontists told me it would
in the greenhouse
this room will never hold enough air for you all
sorry for making everyone listen to lightning bolt all morning
i will play us some Good adult contemporary now, with ambient field recordings and bird noises
help, I'm 2 cats
help, I'm 2 cats and our basement door is closed, down where we shit and piss
and we hear a snare drum and cymbal hit. and it makes us hit each other and run around real fast.
i can't see red, even when you show me
you left your rare, mint condition magic card on the floor of my car, no sleeve
how will you win now
the "chocolates" telephone gazes dream-eyed with fondness toward the projector in the yard in front of the stage
blurry, goth impacts hit the ears of everyone around and we smile and look, and look down
is that st johns wart beneath the flamingo or some other plant with fake human name i won't pretend to know
Tip
A
Apprec
says the bucket from this angle
from this angel: a kick drum, 2 pedals, one home-made, & a Casio
from this devil: several mosquito bites to the ankle
& from the west, a soft breeze and a sunset that might indicate we've just passed the golden hour
bzzzzzt intensifies from the keyboard and a 5th cup of coffee makes itself known. polyrhythm. cool neo-goths. i can't describe it all as goth. but most things are a little. goth respect.
hearing-test-type beat
i like the way sounds remind me i can still hear
rorschach shoe print in dirt
wake up call, last call for white noise
and how about some video game noises? what was that donkey kong bongos game?
i was never ready to perform
that wet garbage smell is not ginko berries, it is wet garbage
and the bassist in the metal gear solid band is a poser
plastic lamp amplifies presence of stray plant at dusk-
dusk requests i quit using their name in my poetry
I do push-ups everywhere I go
when I walk in the room
it secures the establishemtns to the ground
so they don't fly up or get loose
and when I'm outside I secure down the soil and grass
10 push-ups here and there, 20 if it's a sandy loam soil
the magnetic field grows weaker by the minute
but no need to thank me
this is my love for humanity calling me to do this
I need no paycheck
i think putting numbers in your poem makes it a better poem
2,309,457,225
6,832
54,980
numbers make poems headier,
i never really enjoyed math, always resisted it
this is me compensating
66,223
reinserting numbers back into my life
420 69
in intellectual dryspell
I'm high and I've decided to go on a walk
and stop editing and share more
on a not-so-rare occurrence of parallel thought
I started writing this one before you posted the article thing on homogeny but
this city is like this other city
this city is like nowhere I've ever been
he repeats the same joke about minimalism over and over while people clap and two-step along
I like how you hang out outside after sunset
I like how you like little stupid discordancies that aren't funny to anyone else
adult mopping their kitchen
beer smell from beer spill on the floor
the we-don't-even-drink cans all over the house
in the cold basement
remembering a set of arms and how they feel
I brought the one plastic arm that smells like you
to the next city to the next city
in springtime, soaring,
biking down a big hill, pedaling harder
fear of replicating the Fabio at six flags incident
striking
cats don't beeline
sometimes they take the long way around
"slinky" this is sometimes called
I try to switch up my route to work
I think because zizek said we should? i don't care, i don't remember why I just remember it's important
to not get stuck in the same pathways
dismount across the street
j-walking to work
keno ticket on someone's front step
habits to change are not always bad
not always obvious
a decaying sandwich leaves a slimy rut after rainfall
I pray the little mouse ignores it and cry a little
some things are too unnoticeable
staying in another 120something year old house tonight, the 3rd one in a row
time loves us & then passes us along
leaving mildew and earthsmell damp on our cold basement walls
things that remind you of your grandparents real house before they had to move out
I think that is a Frank Lloyd Wright house
I think that is a Frank Lloyd Wright rootbeer factory
breathing it in through the car ac, I start counting towers I see on hills, old churches and barns
rolling hills americana nap dream
fishlure mailbox like a singing wall fish billy bass but the music that comes out is bills and a postcard from mom
I should call her
is there more money up here or do they just have better style and bigger homes
on the sad goat farm with sad bison and sad deer
you can't hide mange. you can't hide fleas.
you can hide on the kids playset that looks like a rocket
slide spiral southward
back where i'm looking forward to being
thank you friends, I keep saying
thank you when there's nothing more-real to be said
i'm being real, honestly, thank you
being the same in different directions as the
blue gel on the drum head &
blue gel cut-out of a bird stuck on the window
where the sunlight can pass through it
with the cognitive dissonance of a porch covered in wind chimes and a swinging bench for two,
that also has a ring doorbell that scolds "stop, you are being recorded"
I ask you
picture this with me
you're with me even more
i impatiently keep saying not enough
it always gets stuck or taken away in
the moment never feels right
or the wind is too strong, I'm waiting for
cadence to still
but i feel it too much
walking through a light rain til the park greens out
not me this time
long leafy
the trees actually lean in and reach down
making me feel heavy and small both
when given a dynamic shove,
I'm down
frog plodding noises in the puddles on the gravel path
silent and wiggly and
oh shit I ate the earthworms meant for the compost that doesn't
break down
I miscalculate what it takes to make a good compost
keep hoping the change of seasons will do the trick and keep counting on time to do the job for me
but time is short,
only 4 letters long
how is it i keep asking that
much of it
a foamy noise slips in and out of the picture
and holds us,
the accordion postures,
pauline knows how to take her time
pen slides paper, scarf on windowsil,
just like the scarf a stranger brushed by me, my hand touched and noticed it's softness, cyan,
and now suddenly we're all trying to wear blue today,
even the large blue illuminated sky
no blue without the sun
I think willie nelson noticed that first
a table sits outside, waiting for a dog to come get tied up to it while some people with whom the dog sits enjoy some takeout
"does the table know how well it multitasks?"
challenges the dog to the thin-legged iron patio table
"does it know who it's up against?" the dog pulls after a bird or something
the table says nothing
some mountains are deemed "better" simply because they are taller
I spent some time living in satellite dishes and flower petals without realizing I was even smaller
am I speaking my mind enough
how much comes out loud
stuck in the rough,
tongue in my mouth
goosebumps shiver thought of letting loosened
did I say out loud yet
how much I think it, how often?
as the grass grows longer
as the mountain taller
pines dry and hearts are pulled wide
wood cracks from parched air
and something antediluvian tells us we like the sound
of things that can take your breath away,
not in a good way
it's not the ocean
it's not the lake at night under a meteor shower
could be like
a breath of air freshener
a stubbed toe
a snake sheds her skin in the treetops the way a cloud loses snow
breath of fresh air freshener
breath of fresh air freshener
why spend your life trying to be perfect
one day long ago, someone lived in that dilapidated house in the field
and now
the old fence covered in bramble hasn't meant anything since 1973
carefree age of innocence
heading homeward
all these new ways
all four feet off the ground,
a fruitless search for a vanishing art –the "hidden years" unchronicled
"if you had binoculars," the waiter told me, "you could see crystal-clear sky,"
bringing home to us
unremitting beauty
the most authentic echo