ㅁ I sleep on the floor and there's a line around me showing the demons.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ She asked, "How are you? Is it raining?" "Yes! the rain occupies the air!" "That leaves little room for sun." "But there are benefits." "Oh? Can you explain?" "It makes a sound." "And that's good?" She frowned. "Yes."
– a nonnet.
ㅁ sleep spirals pulls me down and attaches with small, grasping hooks pulls my organs aside trying to find my worries spinning them out like tarot cards reading the divination of dreams
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ there are the potholes, each day, gaping and smirking, tasting the trucks' tires
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ Tall, distant, hanging back beneath gray skies, a typical tree hunkers down and faces a glowering gale, groping the nourishing ground with its roots. The ground reaches back, lifting the tree up on its back
– a reverse nonnet with a small trunk.
ㅁ America's edge beetles downward, descending continental slopes, surveying seething waters, and removing her clothes, while whales bite her toes; she tumbles and bounds into cold, bold sea. Sea leaps up, seething forth, frothing, angry, grasping at legs, arms, ready to dismember the hopes and dreams of calm trees, which present themselves with aplomb - even a grave, introspective joy. Joy's easy on the jumping ocean: bits of water weave the chill air, the great boat's steel keel grinds, thrusts, climbs green-gray, kelpy hills and beats down the beast, the humped, formless, torturous, wanton foam. Foam wraps 'round, entangles her lissome limbs: she surrenders to the sea's suggestions, embracing the chaotic frozen surges of lost borders. The edge undefines America.
– a nonnets and reverse-nonnets enchained into a longer poem.
ㅁ clouds hover, grasping trees resolving doubts introducing truths pandering to aesthetes by concocting fractal curves odd turns of visual phrasing that open the mind to redemption
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ people are where they are it's hard to pull them somewhere meet them where they are
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ prose becomes difficult so poetry becomes the default manner of expression engendering ideas and capturing the images that a glance outside will give to me
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ dreams unfold and present improbable strange scenarios in which intimate friends and famous public figures (epistemological hints) become ghost-like beings with secrets
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ I took a long walk up to the east: a gradual hill past old farms, the snow-covered, sun-drenched road saw new subdivisions branching left and right but at the end was a pile of stored hay.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ day follows on the night unburdening its chill reflections across outstretched mountains among rose-stained frozen fields touching the steam-breathing horses fingering the snow-gloved, clutching trees
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ The desert dwells, gold, among bleached stones and dark shrubs - the people zoom by.
– a pseudo-haiku.
ㅁ See, I went to bed rather early. So I woke up at five thirty. My dad has only decaf. I stepped outside and walked. There's a donut store. I got coffee. The sky: clear. Crows talked. Dawn.
– a nonnet.