deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Chapbook Called "June, I Suppose."
(I put a couple of these pieces up here recently. Well, i'll put them here again, as part of this, which i'd already pretty much written when i put them up here. They're all pretty short pieces, with no titles, separated by "..." One of them begins with just a colloge of words. You'll probably be able to guess which one. Actually i might keep editing this thing as a work-in-progress yet. But i'll post what i have of it now.)
...
June, I suppose.
…
Swallowed words
…
Fast wind through the pages
The calendar dies.
...
All you have now are your talents.
…
? Riding Jack down the hill.
…
Still,
…
swish wind fish
cover
cans;
came to realize:
The breeze will carry away
what it brings.
But we can’t wait for the breeze.
It slithers in and slips on out,
a thief,
without our aims. We wither away with time
and grow impatient,
developing the reflex to grab,
or learn to let go.
...
We want.
We want.
We want.
…
Who’s in whose shoes now?
...
Cradle the crab.
Make him feel fabulous...
or...
...
cradle to grave
gripping
gravestone to gravel
...
Your gripe about the potato chips.
…
plenty of girls in the sea
plenty of boys in the sandbox
…
tersely worded curses
…
the gift that keeps on sieving…
...
June, I suppose.
…
Swallowed words
…
Fast wind through the pages
The calendar dies.
...
All you have now are your talents.
…
? Riding Jack down the hill.
…
Still,
…
swish wind fish
cover
cans;
came to realize:
The breeze will carry away
what it brings.
But we can’t wait for the breeze.
It slithers in and slips on out,
a thief,
without our aims. We wither away with time
and grow impatient,
developing the reflex to grab,
or learn to let go.
...
We want.
We want.
We want.
…
Who’s in whose shoes now?
...
Cradle the crab.
Make him feel fabulous...
or...
...
cradle to grave
gripping
gravestone to gravel
...
Your gripe about the potato chips.
…
plenty of girls in the sea
plenty of boys in the sandbox
…
tersely worded curses
…
the gift that keeps on sieving…
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