Illusive elev plotted
in lieu of
illicit missives
eleve and glossy
ellipses loosely eluted
diffusive sluices
immersing Ulua
a lucite looping in
effusive illusions and
recluses.
Alas! Ill
and useless,
all is longer
mill listing lo
lacy lessening for lost-
loved occlusives.

Sometimes I think my love is resting
on the couch from the sidewalk
picking 'part polyester nesting

an undulating thrum manifesting
I'll tell you at the kitchen table
that I've been nowhere lately

In the park across the street
is where we skip your track meet
my legs damp from where we sat

Now in the cool centre of December
with no personal effects to speak of
you tell me a story I'll misremember

Is there power still, an ember
your boss holds your check again
and I call him up and quit for you

Close my eyes for a second
your nails like little almonds
where they touch my cheek

you lift away and I fall asleep.

I am tired of missing you,
the exercise of the distance.
Like a cat,
returning to it's bowl
no more than five minutes after emptying it,
you are a temporary figure now,
that cannot claim object permanence.

That someday,
poured into a ramekin
like honey and soap,
is numbed by the relentless and
staggered steps
of the hour.

Lift your eyes up, to the horizon
where the plane flattens
into a thin line
and the future lays blue
and final.

Eldest,
You are cruel by nature
and not knowing better,
but you will come to learn that is no excuse.
An unfilled form,
you're a hand
half in a glove,
and it makes you careless.
You will later apologize for coming first,
Eldest.

Eldest,
you are a stand in.
See what responsibility looks like stretched over adult bones.
Stretch out yourself.
Pull on it.
You idealize a lighthouse.
You chart a course,
some careless and rambling march,
that well,
isn't really supposed to look like that.
Slowly,
you grow to resent your stretch marks,
Eldest.

Eldest,
always guilty,
you wish you’d known that you’d been responsible all along.
Eldest,
dwell on this, as to make sure it won’t happen again.
Teach your eldest child this lesson and hope
they do better than you.
Blindly feel the yoke’s pull,
Eldest.

I've seen to it to be left about,
a coursing, hushing let down.
To prove to you I leave rot out,
I see what's best about my withering brown.

A coursing, hushing let down-
take this as seriously as I say I do.
I see what's best about my withering brown.
My equinox benefits only you.

Take this as seriously as I say I do.
I'll come back and fall to fruit,
(my equinox only benefits you)
when warm tides cause seeds to root.

I'll come back and fall to fruit,
so see it to be left about.
A warm tide caused seeds to root,
I prove it and leave the rot out.

Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't know what that **** is
(it's a collection of words, organized
and broken into
lines

and stanzas
like this!)
Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't know how to type!
(you take your finger,
assuming you have one
and if not
that's ok
use whatever you prefer,
and press down on one
of those little squares
you know,
the ones with the
letters on em)

Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't know any white man poets,
dead or alive!
(You don't need em,
you could read em
on the account of background
and cultural appreciation,
but you,
you're enough)

Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't think you're good enough!
(You are, ******,
and I am the president of poetry saying
it is true,
but ultimately you will,
grow to be your own champion,
maybe not now,
but I can tell you how)

Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't know how to be your own champion!
(You'll become one by
putting a poem here *******!)

So, put a poem here *******!
Go! Go! Go!

She turned her home into a brothel,
and killed god in the process,
because he was an untrained craigslist hire
and struck a nail straight through a wire
hidden in the wall,
and died
foaming at the mouth.
She,
in turn googled a WikiHow
and did the work herself.

I have previously,
and this is forbidden knowledge I am about to indulge you in,
(feel grateful perhaps)
I have previously been accepted here before.

In my blueish age
of 13,
deemed enough of a literary
writing reams,
cartoonish spools, overspileth
sounds about right,
and history was recorded!

Little did your establishment know that
years into the future,
in a plasmatic stopwatch,
I'd be
frantically,
absolutely sweating bullets!
attempting to erase
the pubescent penning about
Lord knows,
depression and gym class.
and after, said to no one in particular
in a completely
revisionist fashion
"bless this mess"

so how about it old friend,
another round?