3D printing everything,
copying it bit by bit.
Filament is made from
bits of real world”,
the ad says. The duplicate
will be indistinguishable
from the original. My
evil plan is afoot. I
don’t worry about
fidelity. My
predecessor
didn’t either.
Evil hands wring
“muahahah.”
Silence has a
tremor to it
a tremble like
a quiet cold. I
wish I could move
fast like that
all the time or
make myself
gigantic with
massive
goosebumps.
But super speed or
growth are for
cool kids and I
get a preview while
freezing in the quiet,
cupped hand, ear.
The art of persuasion
in a world of infinite
is that the ant can
always shove the
rubble down the hill
and blame the gravity
of the situation.
And Sisyphus will
never see the ant’s
mandibular snicker
as he WTFs. But he
knows the agent of
his distress
Just show up every day. Not to hold humanity in contempt. Trust me, humanity already knows its flaws and chooses to ignore. Just show up to create. Consistency is the diatribe against the night. It is the canyon where a river once flowed.
Fanning pages
made a breeze,
a butterfly in 1369
chrysalis-emerged,
and I exhaled. Their
overlap vertex
was chosen
as a site for no
thing, and is
considered one
of the lesser known
anomalies. It’s
documented
here for
posterity.
I’m shrinking from
the reduction, reducing
from deduction. In
fact I’m adding where
you’re subtracting.
Everything from this
point onward will be
documented to the
nanosecond, expanded
in time frivolously and
without extra pay.
A ditch that rejects
its dirt, even
with receipt.
Playing catch-up today! Today’s prompt was to write a sijo, yesterday’s was to write a sonnet. I’m not really happy with how the sonnet turned out (sonnets in general are one of my least favorite forms), but the sijo form is new to me and I really enjoyed it!
That moment I can
fall into, this time when
my eyes drip, half shut
half then after again ,
asymptotically
approaching
closed.
And in that
time of falling
through solids,
existential crisis
takes a back seat
to ice and mercury
who were always
waiting, patiently.
Just be me, just
a tree, with a path
and a brook, and
infectious shade
that cajoles you
into smiling. At me.
At that tree.
And my only
eccentricitree
is you am you
and me am me,
and I’m working
on ambulating,
but evolution
takes time.
Today’s prompt was to answer the Proust Questionnaire. Decided to follow the prompt exactly w/ one-line (reasonably lyrical) answers for each question & minimal editing after the fact. The result could maybe use a bit of shuffling/revising to be considered an actual poem, but I think it flows well & even makes a bit of surprising sense as-is.
Treading on toast points,
stepping carefully, ensuring
marmalade impressions
aren’t anew. Reuse the
sticky paths from ago.
Feet going “schmuck”
in and out of deep
depressions. “Why, that
imprint alone is decades old.
Preserve the
landmark!”. What a
jam.
Some writers write
and believe they right.
Some wrong, but
trust unseemly
scenes and tryst
with untrue truths.
“Oh my, look
at me, the laureate
deserves acclaim!”
branding with great
self aggrandizing
prognostication,
in arrears. Pulling
a daisy before it
wilts on the asphalt.
Sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be embarrassed posting poems with very basic rhymes like this but rhyme is truly what got me into poetry in the first place and it only seems childish if you’ve read too much Dr Seuss and not enough Robert Frost so just let me have this
A remarkable .com
we’ve had, and I
think back to the
day we hired each
other, all fidgety and
cotton-mouthed in
the interviews. For a
while it was water
bubblers and break
room antics. Then
we trained our own
team. New product
launches always.
Did we before @?