Poem-A-Day #260 : Fellfield

Fellfield

We erode -

                    The computer was no longer working - it was big - it was out of date - we threw it into the dumpster after trying for a week to find somewhere to donate it to

          for parts - education - whatever

                              the sound of the screen breaking was the sound of ice cracking in  glass of scotch - sharp - you could picture the crack across the thick gray surface - could feel the crack with your fingernail

Eventually all mountains turn into scree -

                    The pile of weathered glass looks like marbles - it feels like marbles - like an oddly smooth skin

          colorful skin - breaking skin - the remnants of oceans

                              why do we come here - why do we roll around in these piles of glass what good does it do to stare into the compactor - the dump is not a place for us we are attempting to not be trash

The rubble will hold -

                    The broken computer still houses the memories of what it was - if there were a way to turn it on it would still window itself would probably even bring up the last file

          like a basement in flood - the molding folder would open with a resounding crack

                              inside a map of what once was - topographical and emotional - green and fading and barely legible - it would smell like moths - you could plant it in the ground and it would grow another mountain

Poem-A-Day #52 : The Sentence as a Possible Record of Carnage

The Sentence as a Possible Record of Carnage

I hold my hand to light - the sky a field of green behind the flesh

My veins and trees and some other things merge into a skin color

Someone told me that the sentence is a possible record of carnage

That a judge will pull out the desired effect like a string from a sweater

And the unraveling will be spectacular -

I am sure that the universe cares little of blood and scales

That in the end the thread will not pull so much as un-thread

A violence of evenness - of being forever separate

You there - little period at the end of this line - what's the weather like.

Hogmanay

I became obsessed with entropy in 2007. My thesis paper in grad school was about it. This poem is about it.


Hogmanay (12/20)

There is death in this world - asphyxia - cotton
On the horizon everything levels into line
Mountains become plains become valley become oceans

And our bodies - yours mine - become less bodies
that feel nothing but the coolness of water then not even that
Our hands will smooth will become rocks in a river

My electrons will separate will form evenly spaced fields
Matter heaping and never touching
The universe will expand until it doesn't

Some Mary Tyler Moore Dick Van Dyke sleeping patterns
A safe sex video - static at the dirty parts
You take the left bed Mary I'll take the floor