A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Not new, not nothing new
screamed the whole ride down the mountain
saw drop after bighorn
sheep staring highway lanterns

Lessons in the sound air
flying past the window into a cloud
that is close enough to touch
if it is even the sort of thing that let’s you touch
— that doppelganger effect

Surreal shade out — the sun
after it’s done talking, letting out the seams
from the world, pacing
last night’s trophies on the couch, floor
lying in the midst of bottles and pizza
boxes — coming down

The fireplace is out of…

A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Please me let I be me — stop heart

screaming — the process of getting down the front steps hardening each other second

For crying in — for discovering in cupboard lost box of pictures and wire — red with the rusted minutes —

Wonder how that map is coming along — where does direction come from…but don’t ask Dionysus that — sketched in more curtains, more folds in the universe, scraping through empty limbs

and leaving lines in new tattoos — stripping into the ditch, clothes torn as they come off

or buttons flying — is this excitement? —…

A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Sadness swept your features into
a mirage

Tap tapped the way
the drugs were going in and
staying put

Getting through dawn
in a grey Cavalier
spun reality into a common cold
worship of tissue — the
tissue of the eye

Tragedies never simply begin
— the full swath of pain never released
till the end
when the curtain comes down
like a bandage

Sorrow caked masks
never get cleaned, never get totally
free of the bug

Time to tell the truth
and if you don’t know any of it, shut up

The sway of the life
before — so far…

A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Facial aspects — a skin thing, but papered with relish and religion and something else around the mouth in the mornings, revealing a paper thin routine that storms out without leaving a note of any kind, where it’s going — but you weren’t worried

the ideas didn’t totally lapse — you dug your garden through grey/ brain matter, heaped up the disease rhetoric, left for the weeds, too, or must be burnt with paper for fuel, for the writing that won’t stay — yes, you can say I’m resisting

the excuse layered with enough obscure reasons to pass as bills…

A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Saying right out more than it means — the crave of this next body, the body beside me, in me, shedding cellophane solipsism — rearrange the muster

for the disaster area — fried green world, only it’s still fucking yellow! — hold up, I see the leaves form

some kind of answer — and then I get so lost in the rain, the smell, that I disincline towards look there’s the sun again

and droop — forwards, but the highway goes on, supposedly — it stops at the door, or a door, crinkled face to the sunglasses on

the seat…

A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

A plague on both your houses — Shakespeare

This is the plague — unpleasantly keeled over, reaping sarcasm ripe for framing dissolution questions — abstract eggs hatching about, clamouring for arrogant noses, plastic heads — the practice of splitting things without blood as the result

Oh we’re fucking good at this — this riddling behaviour confirmation bias routine — can’t shift a little bit, even with transcendence in the mix — level us, put us up in homes of pure facticity — enough, breakfasting in the evening flips it all around

Orchestral demonstrations and the somber piece of world heading…

15 May 2021 Saturday Poetry Prompt: neologic

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

The need for social lubrication/ awkward, yes, and — the periods between your comma’s

make the self-love session I put/ fucking off— display of the display that swells between feet and knees


Explosive discussion — call the bank, make sure you don’t live in a small town where everyone talks

shit like that — cuffed the eyes into remorse/shame — but then stick the chin out into the sunlight/

past the shortened Main St./ disjointed, collaborative — getting the hand to work for five, ten minutes

/solid work — couldn’t put the coffee on till…

A Poem

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Certified nightmare — the grope for the skins that have disappeared — under the blanket there might still be something there, who knows

the gory sentence was allowed to finish, but only when the curtain was down — so nothing explicit, then

or not contradictory — feeling out the holes with no intention of filling anything — the material considerations

pushed down a notch, enticing ribs for more action pow that unbroken sense become riddled with passion glaring — supervising

the thrill of — communicating

with lips, into lips, alongside the lips — strong pulls to the contrary and try…

A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

First remove the unreal thread from the bottom of the chair — that’s what’s holding you down

tied, in reality — but you fling another tear drop at the wall, all the colour of violence when hits

frees you stumble back a pace, get a grip on your hair — wherever you find it — floors and sinks and drains

always in the drain; maybe they should just come out with the pre-furred pipe — plumbers

already expect to fly expletives in head — fucking furballs — and there are a good many reason

not to be a total ass…

J.D. Harms

Former hairstylist, perpetual philosophy student, swallowed by poetry, writing, ideas

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