something else underneath the bottle
something else underneath the plate
somethine else underneath the glass
he did not self-identify with the movement
Wikipedia Poem, No. 779
clear evident hands
buried in soil or
ars poetica cresting
the break for introspecer
look through the looking
optic spek observe
spasati sees small fish
in the crown whitewater auspecere
look closely at skopein
behold high german spehhon
appearance for introspettiva
any brains’ll tell ya elation monstrous
unknowing inspecere inspective any brains
from There Are More Beautiful Things Than Beyoncé by Morgan Parker
Wikipedia Poem, No. 767
any result indexing away data admittance to do and indexing provides data admittance services profit addition provide malfunction formation straight get you other software or anything in addition to concerning accurate reformation entry businesses local bills payrolls payrolls payrolls payrolls payrolls payrolls payrolls pasting business unit can achieve information entry organization entry digesting businesses some computer software other organizations would solve the data admittancement equipment location problems kept in structural y'all be descript now
Source: Young, Dmitry. “Data Entry Providers.” Neural Learning AI, 26 Apr. 2018.
I sit in bed beside you, shearing,
Heating pad set to medium;
You say I couldn’t handle more.
You’re looking for work.
I’m reading about poets in
Meanwhile, your fingers ricochet
Like ants across the keyboard;
Pfizer has some jobs in La Jolla.
I don’t want to reach over and fuck you
Nor use my teeth to puncture your pliant neck,
How glorious to be at peace
Despite all the canned blue passion
Radiating my brain, our out-there gray
Lives, like the promise of snow.
Pain always produces logic, which is
very bad for you. That’s not my line
But it’s a good one and applies here;
Women are bred for pain, they’ve got it
In them. The trick is to realize not everyone
You think is a woman is, my friend. It is dark
Now. The weather report predicts snow overnight
And it is rare the weather report is wrong
Anymore. Four to six inches. This poem
Is about fucking. Or not fucking. Or refusing
To write in bedclothes
Source: Baraka, Amiri, and William J. Harris. The Leroi Jones/Amiri Baraka Reader. New York, NY: Thunder’s Mouth Press, 1991. Print.
Wikipedia Poem, No. 572
they move today as was written hold that sound against one of they move today dog hyper-aware and read by complex formations me she or has gone they move today perspicuous improvisational solo explain more clearly they move today it is being written hold it against one's patience they move today for difference radiates one of us curious dog
I’m extraordinarily fond, and proud, of this poem. It’s about the way that war and violence affect one’s humanity.
It begins with a quote from Gabriele de’ Mussi, a historian of sorts, who gave one account of the beginning of the black plague in Europe in the mid-14th Century.
He tells of the siege on Kaffa (now known as Feodosia in Crimea) in which the Mongols launched the rotten flesh of their own sick and infected soldiers over the city walls in order to weaken the defending forces — an early version of biological warfare.
Please read and share it. You mean the world to me.
Thanks for being a part of this crazy project.
By substituting X for their name
We begin to blue-grey a flicker rate
Between eyes, nose, ears and mouth.
The subject doing the describing,
For instance, receives big panicked gulps
And must not be allowed to employ simile
Now, let’s consider X a revolutionary—
Stephen Dunn once wrote as much
While withering for cash.
If X died today, the sun and the moon
Would finally receive their answer:
A torn sheet of paper
for both celestial bodies:
Grim, graceful and surreal;
A canyon of sugar skulls,
Oh! the lightcycle enfolding forever
Like endless dough.
They need not be
X’s interdisciplinary epigram, anyway,
Inspired (which?) Dickman’s monograph 52 years on,
The latter being more studied yet
Significantly less erudite
Than the former, who cannot
Will not make up their mind
But will resolve to vacillate endlessly.
Do be you
X is one of the park’s rarest
And least conspicuous trees.
Found only on dry ledges of the summit,
X is little more than a shrub.
X is not a belted kingfisher
Despite their harsh and rattling call.
X is silly and not as
Handsome as you remember.
When Christ arrives,
X is surprised.