thirty is the loneliest number
food is clearly part of the reason, Pam,
cause resentful displeasure (you you know):
f-bomb. Except it’s not my club;
mandibles, calm as amylase, self-
hard as balls,
recyclable, an arid, Nordic
colander: a default couple, near
sense: yolk, considered hoarding.
red phase: and she has content, not
skin. Justin Bieber, moon. Perfect,
smudged, your mercy,
not our business. Ursula Le Guin
vaunteth not herself. Australian
mariachi-rap. we’re electronic
The last post of the month, a compliation of the earlier poems. I wasn’t sure what constraint to put on myself here, but I decided to sample my poems for the month in order, picking favorite phrases, words, lines, or punctuation.
Here is the prompt I was responding to:
Conclude the project by writing a poem that incorporates words and lines from all of your past 29 poems.