#thepoeming2018

[indexingthsutures]

LAST SUTURE - THE POEMING, DAY THIRTY-ONE

[jmacsteph]

Oct 31: The Tyrant Smells Decay

 Stop seeking a reality

 Neither sound nor trace

 Relieve empty scavengers

 Of chemical spills and

 Luxury boats

 The sharks have nothing left to chew

 This ferry is optimistic

 When the world ends

 You’ll get there anyway

 Hands, fingers, in a video game

 Of delusional fuckers

 And farmers markets

 A terrible Frankenstein

 A real piece of living art

 Roll and pitch master

 You’ll be happy

 Building a terrible thing

  Grant, Mira. Symbiont. New York. Orbit, 2014. Print. Pages 444-472.

[indexingthsutures]

THIRTIETH SUTURE - THE POEMING, DAY THIRTY

[indexingthsutures]

TWENTY-NINTH SUTURE - THE POEMING, DAY TWENTY-NINE

[jmacsteph]

Oct 29: A Child’s Toy

 Slip behind a natural look / get in and buck / you pretty crash / little my heart / offended fucked up road show / get rough and survive / threaten a rupture from the inside out / remember I was Born in the warm hot dark / that’s not the crash I’m looking for / hungry and reach / shoulder and back / the drums made me alone / a child’s toy

 Grant, Mira. Symbiont. New York. Orbit, 2014. Print. Pages 410-420.

[indexingthsutures]

TWENTY-EIGTH SUTURE - THE POEMING, DAY TWENTY-EIGHT

[indexingthsutures]

TWENTY-SEVENTH SUTURE - THE POEMING, DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

[indexingthsutures]

TWENTY-SIXTH SUTURE - THE POEMING, DAY TWENTY-SIX