ㅁ infinite monkeys in some argentine bookshop all clacking away
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ rain and snow and more rain: they oscillate in the atmosphere with stochastic movements, dodging the windshield wipers. and then a bit of sun climbs out, illuminating the mountainside.
– a reverse nonnet.
I set aside my thoughts, just walking. The alien along the road appeared and gave me pause, his talking - his soulless pleadings - like a code made up of tangled verbs and meanings from which I got the barest gleanings. I followed through an open gate, his gestures seemed to show we're late, how could I know, could he be trusted? In dark and looming halls we roamed, his pointless words spilled out and foamed. We stopped beside machines, all rusted. And he explained what he had planned, but still I didn't understand.
ㅁ Outside my window, western hemlocks tower and confront the clear air while stale snow begins to melt. But in shadows it's cool; amid broad blue skies there are all these disturbing, brooding doubts.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Blue mooncraters embedded in ice. Blue sky overhead making light. Blue tickmarks counting the hours. Blue ice, scored by the stones. Blue, baroque bubbles. Blue curvatures. Blue, broken. Blue thoughts. Blue.
– a pseudo-haiku.
So I attempt to move ahead, to set aside the brooding things, but moods assert and dwell like dead - like ghosts adrift on empty wings. The spider webbing fills my head with self recriminations, rings of cloudy doubts and dreams, all led across landscapes controlled by kings who rule the shifting realms unsaid and quite unsayable, till springs snap shut and render into dread. Perhaps in moving forward, then I'll figure out solutions. When?
– some kind of sonnet, but it’s missing a line. Badly wrought.
ㅁ The snow turns to rain; rain turns to snow turns to rain; winter spits its spite.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ My mood plunged in the wake of events: A machine refuses to work. I'm not so mechanical... At least, not as I'd like. So a gloom descends: A rain on snow - Insistent - Melting Drifts.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ The moon approached dispassionately, with not a glance to either side. A hoary cloud floated by, blurring her pocked, pale face. The earth ignored her, preoccupied with winter and ice. Cool.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Is it possible to write poems about the sprawling internet? All the seething, grasping text that underlies a world - an engineered mind - a clockwork brain: idiot savant soul.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The atmosphere tastes like frozen grapes and snow conceals the doubtful path. I step forward, then sideways. A bird rushes by me. The hill hides the sun but the sky's blue. A branch snaps. Silent place.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Yesterday it snowed from dawn to dusk. So I stayed in for the morning. I thought the firewood could wait. Fat flakes fell on windows. Still, I took a walk. The road was white. I left tracks, Saw trees, trudged.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Bits of shredded trees all embedded in slopes of frozen mud and snow testify to the assaults committed by machines impelled by profits hungry for wood devouring churning wants.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The eagle circled round and landed in a hemlock by the river. Yellow beak and white head spun. A branch shuddered and swayed. So the raven swooped, changing her spot from a rock to a pine.
– a nonnet.