This time for The Poem Line, I began the evening by making a poem out of The Poem Line phone number. (Using words with the same metric value).

The Poem Line

Low Gait Clive
Blew a Great Date
Licks Heaven’s Sick Brine

Here are the rest of The Poem Line poems.

Last Days of Anger [For Laura, angry]

Thank bareassed jerks –
that you’re one of a kind.
Even with your broken glass scrubs
and toilet brush squeezes
Please don’t stop.
Bowl of the body of created rules
for me, please.

Little Bless [For Jonathan, seeking tranquility]

My little blessed phenomena
you live in silent mountains
accommodating to perfumed matinees
bubbling up your blessings
leaning against walls of pure oxygen
sleeping on sheets of secrets.

A Smear [For Naomi, tired]

Filter 16 year old wine
into grey water:
your bold trick.
“The dog’s hair works”
say the messers
spying on your memory bank.
The picture is too nice and true
and I don’t fear books.

No [For Anon, feeling all wrong]

It was like a drawer of worms
Not quite
it wasn’t right.
Like opening a drawer of worms.
Like wearing worms as underwear.
Like strangers in white shoes.
Stepping out of your belly and your soul
and God
Trying to get a look
at how much curse you’ve got.


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