Peel away concerns,
and the world,
and the things we love
and the people
I noticed all the post-it note poems lying scattered on my desk and imagined peeling them away, until there was only desk. Then I poemified it up by imagining it as a person. The process, not the desk.
If you spiral then you’re chiral cos these final posts are viral…
Yeah, just mucking about really.
The stabbing pain
that I feel in your
was never supposed to
spill from my heart
Much less glamorous than it reads: this is an attempt to suck up to my friend after I accidentally gave her an enthusiastic hug and twisted something in her body, pinching a nerve which then numbed her entire right arm for days and left her with a stabbing pain in the chest.
I believe it qualified me as BEST. FRIEND. EVAR. Where ‘best’ is some variation on ‘jerk’.
Through skies above
love clambers over towers,
flowers cupped in one hand,
and bridges the gaps,
perhaps to find you?
Merely an experiment in structure – the last word of each line rhymes with the first word of the next, and the final word rhymes with the first.
The battle is now
Muscle, sinew, bone,
terror, obstinacy, hope.
An odd balance indeed.
I did some obstacle course training this morning so thought sticking this note to my exhausted hand would convey some of that experience…
Lift us up,
don’t be late.
IT IS YOUR FATE!
I had to leave some weights out the back for my friend to pick up.
Yeah, not everything can be deep.
Have you heard what is sweeping the nation?
It’s called autodefenestration.
Grab yourself by the neck,
Take a leap, hit the deck!
Much more simple than autofellation.
Inspired by a limerick on defenestration that I read on Twitter.
We’re tightrope walkers
Close but never touching,
Touched but far apart.
(don’t look down, you’ll lose your heart)
Sometimes everything comes together. The two notes, like the tightrope walkers, over the chasm suggested by the poem. Puns on touching (*sings* feelings) and being touched (by the gods). Puns on losing your heart.
If the tightrope walkers ever touched, they’d fall. (In this world they aren’t very good tightrope walkers)
From hydrogen to light,
from light to scattered images,
to chemical blooms
and neural pulse
and finally delight.
I thought about the bizarre process that converts hydrogen into happy feelings in my brain, via a pretty beach or mountain view or the face of someone I love. And look what came out!
I really like the cadence in this one, btw.
IT’S NOT. ENOUGH.
try it sometime,
fly forward; fall
I cheated by having ‘everything’ show through the top of the glass bottle to which I’d stuck the poem. That wasn’t intended, I just needed a background and noticed that the first word visible worked well with the poem.
What does it all mean? Maybe complaining about there not being enough time in life to do everything I want and juggling too many projects at once? Dunno.