thirty is the loneliest number

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-

cleaning (parents);

 

                              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,

our normal.

 

                    smudged, your mercy,

not our business. Ursula Le Guin

vaunteth not herself. Australian

mariachi-rap. we’re electronic

               

                   

Note:

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.