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April 24, 2016 (Zoe’s Birthday!)

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So much of you

Is stored in the dead

Cells squeezed through

Your scalp like a Play-Doh

 

Barbershop in slow motion.

Every heart, broken

By the phone, heap

On the floor,

Tears in the closet,

Shimmies through in the lock.

 

If we shave our heads,

Will sorrow leave

Like a widow,

Bald and cast

To a life of silence

And solitude?

 

There can be joy

Again, I suppose,

A remaking

Of oneself

In the quiet

 

Beyond arrangements

You were too

Young to understand,

And trees

Bearing the fruit

You never got to eat.

 

This is Poem #64 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

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April 17, 2016

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In 1965 you could still believe

In the unbelievable. There were

No drones mapping the floor

Of that Scottish Loch,

 

Nor night vision cameras

Filming the absence of Yeti

In the snow. A Scientist could

Be respected, smoking

 

His pipe and examining

Evidence from blurry

Photographs of UFOs and eye-witness

Reports of Bigfoot.

 

In 1995, Mulder wants

To believe and so do I.

 

I do not want scientific

Verification to prove or disprove

What is meant to be

Unknowable. Wood paneled

 

Walls and papers piled

On the shag carpet. Typewriter

Clicking and file drawer ajar.

 

This is Poem #61 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map, and write from there.

April 16, 2016

 

They put them on the spots

That work best – sucking

Your blood to the surface.

 

Polka dots on alabaster

Skin. A veneer

Of bruises and blood. Every

 

Mircroaggression a parasite

To siphon out another piece

Of your soul and the human

Spirit shrinks, smaller,

 

And smaller, and smaller.

 

This is Poem #60 of the Poem (Almost) Everyday Project.

April 10, 2016

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Their world is dying

For the fruit we slice up

On Cornflakes and Rice

 

Krispies. Chupacabras

Wonders between the big

Leaves and trunks and knows.

 

He should hold crops

For themselves. How

Many acres of rain

 

Forest disappear

Everyday for McDonald’s?

Homes are sinking

Into the core,

Hot, and molten, and afraid.

 

My car disappeared

Last night, pushed

Away by a giant

Beast, alone

And unbelieved in

 

Leaving empty peels

And a few drained corpses

In his wake.

 

This is Poem #57 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

 

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map below, and write from there.

Crypto Map

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

bigfoot

Mark an X where

You have seen the unbelievable.

Who will be convinced

Your mythic animal is real?

 

I once saw a panther

slink across a New Hampshire

Highway, but Fish & Game

Say I never did.

 

Big Foot hides in the brush

Of the Maine Coast.

He watches us swim,

Fly kites, swat flies.

 

Donning his Bermuda shorts

And sunhat, carrying

An extra-large beach towel,

 

He hides in the shadows

In the safest parts of

The map, watching

From his hermit

Existence on

The largest coastal shore.

 

This is Poem #52 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

 

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map below, and write from there.

 

Crypto Map

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

 

 

 

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Sometimes the pinning down,

Theory proven, evidence

Collected hypothesis –

 

Now truth –

Destroys something

Mythical. Like

Love. When I learned

 

That it was simply

A chemical surge

To my brain –

 

Not the intense

Interference by

The gods –

 

That made me wait

By the phone, troll

Your hotel room,

Open myself to you –

 

Runs in my stockings,

Panties on your

Bathroom floor,

No thoughts of a condom

 

I lost something

Else. We all did.

 

Do not prove what

Does not need

Verification. Leave

Some magic

As just that.

 

This is Poem #51 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map below, and write from there.

 

 

 

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The news would have you

Believe that shark attacks

Are devastating

The human race –

 

Shredding our limbs,

Bloodying the ocean waters

With their appetites

And pointy teeth, but

 

Statistical data

Proves otherwise.

The number two

Animal killer of

Humans is humans.

 

The savagery of a large dog,

The venomous bite of a snake,

Are threats, I suppose, but

 

Nothing compared

To the angry young

Man with a semi

 

Automatic rifle

And a great white

Ego to sooth.

 

This is Poem #49 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

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So, Big Foot walks

Up to you in a bar –

Says, “First, I’m real.”

 

You sip your beer,

Trying to be nonchalant,

Keeping your amazement

Under wraps. “Second,”

 

He says, “Climate

Change is real. Just

Ask my cousin, the Yeti.”

 

You imagine the melting

Ice cave – the slop

on the kitchen floor –

 

The rising sea

Levels drowning

Miami, Hawaii,

 

Odiorne State Park.

Big Foot, it seems,

Was here the whole

time and laughing.

 

But, no more. “What

Do you choose to believe

In and who

informs your choice?”

 

This is Poem #48 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Crypto Map

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map above, and write from there.

 

 

Real-Dino

The dinosaur bones

Are fake, they say. Nothing

Lived before the timer

Started at 6,000 years

 

Ago. If a Pterodactyl 

Shows up in 1860

Wearing a navy or grey cap,

 

What madness sparks?

The world is divided –

The Civil War – oxymoron

To end all oxymorons –

Has never ended, really.

 

Nothing was solved

by the the deaths of thousands

On fields where

Reenactments are played.

How close are we to a

Half-revolt again?

 

North rebels against

South. Makes a flag

Of tolerance and acceptance,

To convey disdain

At the Confederacy.

 

What colors convey peaceful

War to bring unity? What

Ancient beast needs

to fly above – giant

Wings flapping

And blocking

Out the sun?

 

This is Poem #46 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

 

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map below, and write from there.

Crypto Map 1

The back page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

monarch__1_

It is like heroin,

This need to know how

The Universe really functions,

 

And why our world

Is dying. (Who will care

about these words

 

when we’re all dead?)

Little girls chase

Monarch Butterflies

Around the yard with nets

 

Once released from classroom

Tanks and penguin

Videos rule the world.

 

(She hates science,

now we know. Can’t

have anyone thinking

critically when it disproves

her false truth.)

 

The man behind

The podium tries

To lie with an honest

Face, while fat

Checks from Koch

Brothers rot

In the bank and murder

Seven billion people,

And the Monarchs,

And the penguins.

 

This is Poem #45 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

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