Thursday, April 10, 2014

Today it's about quantity

Snowball's Chance in Hell

I am the wind first.
I am the fast watch winded.
I am the lost river hacked. Deliver ruthless questions.
I am all gone. Wrong second. Blinded mountain.
I am the last round. Balled. Falling. Attracts sprawling.
I am sea over shell. Packed melting treasure.
I am the ruse. Yeses. Pursue leisure.


memories out of paper

resting on
the shoulders of a little boy
the hands told
you something, as well
as the handwriting, the words

stop pretending
we don’t sleep
sitting down and doing nothing
easier on the empty nights

the boys
they used to be
he'd never even miss
how too young grew
into the men they've found

Secret Agent Man

the first round tied,
going so far as figuring out
curiosity was the network

and contemplating our secrets
immediately piqued no one
he’d committed identity theft
who would remember him

three streams of data
to unplug

shakes it off, moves on

first poem: snowball (number of letters), second and third poem are cut and pasted from random lines I've taken from eight different tabs I have open on my computer, seven of them stories, and one article.

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