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…


Written by patrickbirdener (Patrick Birdener)
Published
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