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Literature Text
When Monday morning's merriments arrive,
I'll know myself intangibly insane--
What Monday morning's ever less contrived
than dinosaur detectives on cocaine?
Perhaps that symbolism's inhumane--
Wait, was that symbolism, imagery,
Or something else? I cannot ascertain
the meaning of these words--a forgery
composed in crooked Cockney cockery;
Again, the scribe conjectures confidence:
she leaves a signature ascribed to me,
like I could ever be its provenance?
But Monday afternoon does coffee bring,
Rejoice! A song to sanity I'll sing!
I'll know myself intangibly insane--
What Monday morning's ever less contrived
than dinosaur detectives on cocaine?
Perhaps that symbolism's inhumane--
Wait, was that symbolism, imagery,
Or something else? I cannot ascertain
the meaning of these words--a forgery
composed in crooked Cockney cockery;
Again, the scribe conjectures confidence:
she leaves a signature ascribed to me,
like I could ever be its provenance?
But Monday afternoon does coffee bring,
Rejoice! A song to sanity I'll sing!
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
In the Syllable
...then there is a way in diswaiting.
Dust some yellow sand covers,
here uncover bare bedding.
...suffusing red planes, blushed dunes,
under incidentally quilted blanket
wet as arid curves, as sounds.
...in a persistent pavement,
in a solemn unsuited promise,
some written words erase
some letters drip and soak
unto a perfuse miracle,
a dislocated split,
a letting go of...
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
My early sonnets were riddled with ugly monosyllables, so ~CailinLiath challenged me to write one in eighty words.
It's too bad I didn't take this seriously, because this probably has the most technical merit of any of my fixed form poetry.
It's too bad I didn't take this seriously, because this probably has the most technical merit of any of my fixed form poetry.
© 2011 - 2024 katiekerr
Comments8
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*snrk.