This
word I have in my head is splintered into many indecipherable fragments—a
neuropalimpsest of the Yet to Be.
If
the world is a cake you are the frosting.
I
wish the future would hurry up and get here.
the
air of intrigue is scented with the slippery passion of the ineffable
The
moon is a communist.
Reality,
really?
UTOPIA
is a just a time machine away.
When
you start to hear ethereal alcohol-infused voices, it' a sure sign that it is
time to break the typewriter out!
The
library is not COMPLETE without you.
That's
not what that poem means, but you can think that anyway.
I
didn't really say that, so don't quote me.
such
a lovely and welcome distraction, these thoughts of pomegranates
Eager
to please, the verb became a noun.
I'm
sorry, I can't be your subtext forever.
There's
never been a better time than tomorrow.
He
brought the house down with his inability to express even the most simple of
astonishments.
Godot
is my co-pilot.
The
figure of the lone poet on the top of the big hill yodeling to the sunrise.
My
time machine just got stuck in the snow.
Clumsily,
I dropped the word on the floor and it shattered into a million little pieces.
The
probability you will understand vs the likelihood the message decays into
forgetfulness.
In
my dream last night I was drinking Cat Wine. No other details are forthcoming.
Imagine
pulling a book of poetry off the shelf and reading it.
If
poetry books had more pictures people would be more likely to open then up.
This
statement has been stripped of all poetic and artistic intent.
I
apologize if you feel like I've been ignoring you, but the End of History has
me in a tizzy.
if
was was was then is isn't is.
Your
suitcase is inside out.
The
words for things are not the same as the words for not things.
It's
become clear to me that I was an organ grinder in my last life.
Do
dogs think to themselves "it's a human's life?"
In
my dream last night I was drinking Cat Wine. No other details are forthcoming.
If
everyone I know is a poet, who will fix my toilet when it breaks?
In
the interest of Science I will never be a scientist.
Yesterday
is a dusty piece of luggage with a broken lock.
The
sudden accumulation of discrete phenomena multiplying beyond expected outcomes.
This
text zooms to infinite resolution when tickled with fancy.
The
poetics of the Afterlife are altogether too quiet.
Never
again will I spend 35 years writing a long poem.
Robust
captions compensate for lackluster content.
Nevermind
the messiness, it's the divine breath lurking in the nooks and crannies that is
the source to die for.
raconteur
of juicy tomorrows the lips of which
The
tear in the fabric of the time-space continuum is a syntax malfunction.
Nothing
better than a micropoetry reading.
Micropoetry
meets Conceptual Poetry in a bar. Micropoetry says, "Do I really have to
read that?"
First
order of business at the 1st International MicroPoetry Congress is the
presentation of one word (or less) manifestos.
I've
just been informed that all events, people, objects, and memories of this
universe are held together by an invisible goo.
Micropoetry
is taught in every college and university in the US and they don't even know
it.
MicroPoetry
is the cavier of New Literature.
Cake
is a vegetable.
In
the aftermath of Literature and Great Books—MicroPoetry.
MicroPoetry
is the silver bullet that will bring the State to its knees.
What
if you don't want to put the lime in the coconut?
The
storm of the senses meshes the edges.
MicroPoetry
neither shies from controversy or courts unneeded attention.
The
Church of Tomorrow closed yesterday.
Once
again a Time Machine malfunction prevents me from giving birth to myself.
MicroPoetry
is not a movement, no more than Poetry is a corkscrew.
A
MicroPoetry franchise is available at no cost to you. You simply have to
believe.
welcome
to the carillon of impending noise
For
reasons known only to the Author, I have never worn a tie in my life.
The
plants just told me they have no use for poetry.
That
book can never be finished.
My
blanket statement about the state of affairs is a hand-me-down quilt.
If
I wasn't a pacifist, I'd be sweating bullets right now.
If
I must curry favor, at least make it spicy.
Posterity
is a cloud.
In
case you were wondering the Philosopher's Stone is dirt.
Can
I put you on hold? I have ants crawling up my leg.
Instead
of a constitution, a country founded on nursery rhymes.
Do
not ignore the man in the brown paper wrapper.
This
is a cute picture with a witty saying that you will want to share with all your
friends.
That
possibility has yet to be invented.
Sometimes
I wish the moon was further away.
Gentle
Reader, yeah right.
a
virtual grab bag of useless consonants
I
turned the wrong way and arrived at my destination.
there
are bodies but they haven't been told what to do
...whereas
velocity describes the speed with which TextSound bypasses cognitive
functioning...
I
feel like a half-naked duck smoking a cigar in a sauna waiting for some eggs to
hatch.
In
the perfect universe, a perfect universe exists.
Today,
I will write a poem with a broom.
Is
that a productive use of your time?
The
anarchist squirrel-chaser greatly improved the psychogeography of the underlying
habitat.
Don't
be embarrassed by the tendency to confuse novelty with innovation.
I
could be a rattlesnake.
nickel
and diming the armageddon of the senses
A
most dangerous poem is on the loose and has been spotted fornicating in an
alley. Give me a machete and a book of poems and I'll give you a haiku!
The
poems evaporate and perspire like an old fat surrealist.
SHUG
is not a valid word.
the
story has no end and no beginning
I
just misplaced the alphabet.
the
poetry cloud is saturated
I'm
not who you thought I was.
The
retraction is in fine print at the bottom of the page.
If
you're jumping on the bandwagon, don't forget your instrument.
Chupacabra
wrote a poem and it had babies.
the
edge of the edge is still an edge
under
the cover of dark, I removed the vowels from your soliloquy
It
was a kerning disaster of universal proportions.
wombat
as a verb
Fire
sale on antiquated beliefs. Everything must go.
Haven't
people always talked to chairs?
The
frog in my throat thinks it's a kangaroo.
Trade
your poems in for a shovel and gloves.
The
taskmaster is bankrupt. Pleasure is the forgotten currency.
rock,
scissors, elephant poop
Grumpy
poetics is never satisfied.
Who
writes these things anyway?
There's
a flower on the tip of your tongue.
maximizing
comfort while disassembling immodest assumptions
Just
signed a lifetime contract to be an occasional poet for no pay and no
posterity.
with
enough glue, everyone will be happy
This
text is hampered by your attempts to understand it.
You
have been replaced by a million monkeys. Get used to it.
How
to extract the fishbone wedged in the throat of Poetry?
There's
a flower on the tip of your tongue.
Your
slogan is an instant solution to all my problems. Carry on.
that's
because the halo of indispensable knowledge is tarnished
Your
vibrator poetics ran out of batteries.
the
populace is at odds and the wind is blowing hard
raucous
indifference should not be confused with enthusiasm
the
angels of hypocrisy are dancing on the head of a pin
go
ahead and try to make art out of that
Apologies
to the Author.
the
new poetry is just around the corner
If
only memes would disappear as quickly as they appeared.
How
was I supposed to know what NSFW meant?
interrogating
the interrogator liberates the assumptions framing the interrogation
poetry
is just a poetry
the
source of all knowledge isn't
Poetry
has been blackmailing me for years and I can't take it anymore!
writers
write & poets poet
Now
that poetry is dead we can all get back to work.
the
poem is jockeying to be experienced amid an ice storm of assumptions
the
earth has become a butterfly with no wings
a
not so exquisite corpus
Your
extended metaphor is going to require prosthetics.
the
society of poetry is one peep show after another
all
the world is staged
after
much thought and experimentation I've discovered that our Universe is held in place
by grease
Google
has a penis?
If
a million monkeys can write shakespeare, then goddammit, so can a million
chickens or a million butterflies.
I
just took 31 different things out of my pants pockets.
Every
time I see the word emoji I think ebola.
as
above, so above
Why
grapple with the truth when you can grovel in perfect illusions?
It's
a miracle I can get out of bed. Now make me a saint.
I
have exhausted all the pithy quotes on the internets.
the
Kraken is never wrong
What's
the square root of wtf?
the
scheme of things stings themes
if
you walked by a book on the shelf and it blinked at you. wouldn't you want to
buy it?
monkeys
would do that for half the price
rehearsing
for the imagined moments that might never come
If
you're not growing some of your own food you've failed as a poet.
books
with shoes that walk until they find some new to read them
ambiguity
is sexy
A
house is what we wear when it rains.
I
have yet to see a dotted line to sign on.
Despite
my best intentions I did not dream about ducks last night.
My days of being a
supermodel are behind me.
It
really sucks that the world's oldest man keeps dying.
The
internet is a vegetable.
Which
statistic are you?
Is
it too late to renounce poetry?
The
books on my bookshelves just told me who I am.
shut
it all down and issue a refund
There
are people on the internet?
democracy
is the greatest conspiracy theory
Radicchio
is my new girl friend.
This
quote is off limits for the average reader.
a
poem is a poem is a poem is not
yesterday's
poem is obsolete
blame
it on vowels
I
thought you said conceptual pottery.
Who
said he said she said?
only
the extra-terrestrials can save us now
poison
money everywhere I look, ponder that monkey brain
Remember
when remembering remembered remembering?
an
ampersand for every occasion
My
middle name is Chocolate
Unpublish
derivative literature
If
you can't have fun with language who can you have fun with?
stop
me if you've heard this all before
all
poetry is free for the taking
the
word for sixth dimensional empathic scrutiny being out of phase with fourth dimensional
changeling acrobatics
poets
ranked by penmanship
I'm
end rhyme on time
It's
high time to reinvent Martian poetry.
manifest
mutiny
I'd
like to buy a vowel.