(Poem #192 on new numbering scheme)
On a long trip on a bus, from Temuco's rainy moss to Santiago's vast mess, I read a small, torn book. Thus, because of Neruda's songs there took root a vague longing. my inner poet grew wings. Although maybe I am wrong, since, in fact, I still long failed at becoming more controlled in habit, till I was told perhaps this blog could be filled.
– three englynion proest dalgron
(Poem #191 on new numbering scheme)
To let them languish, and use them for nothing? Thus I chose. See, the saddest spoons are those that sleep, unloved. Is it wise?
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #190 on new numbering scheme)
His oleaginousness causes me to start to miss the clarity of past gross crimes done in name of the cross.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #189 on new numbering scheme)
White, red, black, and pale: masses plunging among the grasses. Hooves pound. There are four horses. You see them? Now watch them join forces.
– an englyn unodl crwca
(Poem #188 on new numbering scheme)
The rampaging orange beast made his attacks hard and fast. Angry men used their dull host; false minds triumphed at last.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #187 on new numbering scheme)
That book about Malcolm X, which I liked so much, connects with a thing I read that talks about love, which our world lacks.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #186 on new numbering scheme)
We look for ways to resist entropy. We feel we must, or else we risk at last our own being being lost.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #185 on new numbering scheme)
Out between the apartments, the kids spread their footprints in the snow. At bat, he bunts; the ball rolls; he slips; she taunts.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #184 on new numbering scheme)
The topology of clouds conveys their unlikely needs. Likewise, the feel of the words in my mouth is changing moods.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #183 on new numbering scheme)
Like wet sand stuck in my mouth the days bunch together with broken rhythms and uncouth echoes like stones off a path.
– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1km]
(Poem #182 on new numbering scheme)
She gazes out from the past, a queen or goddess, now lost. Can we know better than dust whether she maybe was missed?
– an englyn proest dalgron. This is about the Lady of Elche.
(Poem #181 on new numbering scheme)
I was finished with my brain. It began to slow its spin and spill out like a pale stain from my skull into my phone.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #180 on new numbering scheme)
It was the near last twilight of January. It let fragments of cold and gold float down, as if heaven forgot.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #179 on new numbering scheme)
Instead of snow, we got rain. The streets outside are now clean. The old snow's cleared and undone, Snowflakes reduced to a line.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #178 on new numbering scheme)
The alligator was mad 'cause the rainbow monkey said, "You're crazy and kinda bad!" So he bit him on the head.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #177 on new numbering scheme)
The cold crawled along the ground, creeping across without sound, grasping at fragments it found, unfurling, swirling slow, round and round.
– an englyn unodl crwca
(Poem #176 on new numbering scheme)
The monkey and the raven contrived a fine plot, and then, compelled by jealousy, ran to steal the other beasts' fun.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #175 on new numbering scheme)
The sun had forsaken all, having slipped down a deep well. There were bad fish in that pool that had stolen the sun's soul.
– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking 1km]
(Poem #174 on new numbering scheme)
It's so late... I stay awake. Now and then, sleep fails to make anything but a brief, fake appearance - a short trance - no real break.
– an englyn unodl crwca
(Poem #173 on new numbering scheme)
I like snow in the winter, but this dawn's fall seemed bitter, like some song flung forth in fear by a reluctant choir.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #172 on new numbering scheme)
The empty shell of the state, sold to fools; its roads, rules, and dire fate compiled for transition... wait... no... as of now, it's too late.
– an englyn unodl union
(Poem #171 on new numbering scheme)
I write this on a small scrap of paper, with a vague hope that the words might develop into a poem, then stop.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #170 on new numbering scheme)
Just a ways down the shore there, the fell spirit of the air descended, and met the fair spirit of the deep water.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #169 on new numbering scheme)
I'm just really exhausted this Monday evening. I had six classes. For each, I stood and talked. The kids sat and stared.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #168 on new numbering scheme)
You cannot escape the dust; it marches through sunbeams, fast settling on floors like ballast, thus to sink life's ship at last.
– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]
(Poem #167 on new numbering scheme)
The ghost is in the machine: it thinks it's in there alone and so it resolves to run, looping, as long as it can.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #166 on new numbering scheme)
There fell just a bit of snow Filling each pointed shadow Of all the trees and poles, so, turning blue, my breath knew where to go.
– an englyn unodl crwca
(Poem #165 on new numbering scheme)
I've seen my mortality, face forward squarely toward death's city, at least three times; self pity fell to something more witty.
– an englyn unodl union
(Poem #164 on new numbering scheme)
The sentences formed and flowed, spilling forth, flowers in flood, but still no one understood the words - no real person could.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #163 on new numbering scheme)
The monkey met the raven to talk about which option they might choose to try to win their war against the demon.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #162 on new numbering scheme)
I saw, stranded there, a leaf, caught like a weak man's hand, half on and half off a bookshelf, as he fell, slain by her laugh.
– an englyn proest dalgron
(Poem #161 on new numbering scheme)
I saw a bug on the floor. A cluster of dust or fur, a small black machine or more, weird, mysterious cypher.
– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1km]
(Poem #160 on new numbering scheme)
I saw bits of wood arrayed along the path's side, like dead insects, or some bones, which could come from some strange beast, though flawed.
– an englyn proest dalgron
