napowrimo #8

Monday, 7 April 2008

IT'S ALL PARTY OF THE PLAY

I can't believe I saw a snake cloud today!
I can't believe I saw a baby trampoline!
I can't believe I saw the changes work!
I can't believe I saw you after the ball!
I can't believe I saw Yuri eat the butter!
I can't believe I saw the condor! Live!
I can't believe I saw that guy wink!
I can't believe I saw the alternative bid!
I can't believe I saw God check his watch!
I can't believe I saw you in yo nasty!
I can't believe I saw for a living now!
I can't believe I saw after the bad review!
I can't believe I saw this rigged candor!
I can't believe I saw my baby take a dive!
I can't believe I saw what a real yes was!

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napowrimo #7

FINE, HOW ABOUT I'M LEAVING?

I can't believe my dad is sitting on a horse!
I want to say that he's facing the wrong way.
He's wearing the Father's Day shirt again.
Why did we move to this town anyway, God?
The daises are in knots! They're acting up!

Written with much fighting and cake by Mike Young and Rachel B. Glaser

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napowrimo #6

Sunday, 6 April 2008

WE CAN ONLY TAKE ABOUT THREE STANZAS OF THIS SHIT, ANYWAY. WHAT'S A STANZA. OH, YOU. I THINK YOU'RE LOOKING FOR THE "SHE SUCKED HIM OFF WITH HER GLASSES ON" POEM. IT'S TWO DOWN. THANKS. IT DOESN'T HAVE STANZAS DOES IT? MOST THINGS DON'T. THAT'S TRUE. VERY TRUE. TRUSH IS EXSHITEING.

Treat me right: left: attention, hut.
No, can't say I have: have what: is in vogue.
Weakly gathered round to see what's up: in: spin off.

We don't know much: march: dance: fever.
Wouldn't trade this: that: sold-- call me.
If I hear Crazytrain one: two: hide: away bed.

Don't forget the merits of: off: shh, shh.
Cashew picnic really rocked: rolled: stalled at shore.
I'm willing to overlook: look under: we've lost it, I think.

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napowrimo #5

IF YOU KNOW IT AND YOU KNOW IT CLAP YOUR HANDS

Go on, son. Take one for the team.
Soon we'll want a full report
of which one you take.

Reaction rollercoaster. We like to
graft shit to interstellar glee. Don't
lie there, do what I say.

I want to add you onto onto. Isn't
that what they say when they
can't stop, easy treat?

Iced tea sweatshop. Vague glory.
Necklace of ceramic longhairs.
Tastes like a winner to me!

I walked in and ordered one of
in. One oven. Why, what did
Lockdown Dept. really say?

Oh, I know! Make a list of folks
you trust and would also like
to sleep with. No peeking.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.
Jesus H. Christ, yo. No
peeking, I said. C'mon.

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napowrimo #3

Wednesday, 2 April 2008

This is a (bad) fifty word storypoem about sandwiches on consignment. It was written for Nick Ostdick, topic chosen by Kendra Grant Malone (sandwiches). Here it is on Nick's blog with an interview yea boi.

HORN WON'T CHANGE THE MENU

Who could Horn tell? Tooth in the burger, pissed off snowmobiler. See, Horn's dad opened Truckee Grill when miners still dumped silt from their galoshes. Well. Not really. Life exaggerates its ribbons. In April, he died. Snow off the pines: suddenly, finally. "I'm sorry," Horn says. "It's on the house."

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