[becoming] a poem in 5 acts

i.

she doesn’t know
if she can go on
becoming every day
she does know she’ll
go on

ii.

she says,
it’s been a week
since she’s played
with her
internal organs

iii.

question;
will she ever stop reading vitals?
working-over poems?
scratching out a perpetual
presence on paper, in passing?

iv.

nonsense!
to whoever’s eating this
reductionary, binary poem;
you must read the notes
[*perpetual presence means alive]

v.

ah, she’s throwing stuff around now
& letting it land right here
at the better end, because she can,
because she’ll never let her being become
one un-becoming

::

for Real Toads

i’ve been living this way for more than 10,000 years i think

and i don’t even know
how i am doing it
prancing to the playground
calling dibs on the swings
hanging fancy words
on the jungle gym bars
flipping my hair forever free
from real-life verbs
like rush and race

i go hunting-up some honey
which is always given
after i learned how to poise
my asking to approximate
kindness i simply need
to borrow from the bees

and pay no attention to
Jon Lucas, the pissy pirate
to all the pretty posey girls
(he only likes saying
I can see your underwear)

in the whole scheme of things
what you think is the next to
the last thing, never really is
Jon, if you keep on twirling
10,000 more days, months, or
years, — honest to god this is
the easiest way,

29: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

Play Dumb With Me

play dead with me tonight

  like some play footsie

     cavort & do things in the woods

play nice with me tonight

   like some porcelain pleaser

      taking & thanking & thanking

play dumb with me tonight

   like some who don’t know how

    to open their mouths, lift their tongues

play like you mean it tonight

like someone groping blindly

  madly fondling for the dazzling void

 

[for Poetic Asides & submitted to Real Toads]