Category: Nonnet

ㅁ
Words
pile up,
all jumbled,
accumulate.
Their meanings collect
in semiotic berms,
to surround the world's events,
but without intention, like rain,
until at last a text is produced.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
My mind is a parliament of selves.
Angry debates rage on the floor,
while the nation, rudderless,
careens from rock to rock.
The prime minister,
having outsourced
decisions,
resigns.
Closed.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
I awoke to the sound of the rain.
Here in my treehouse, it is loud.
Sometimes it sounds like voices:
murmurations of ghosts,
desultory sounds,
gravity's words,
the gods melt,
climb down,
cry.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
My numerous eccentricities -
this weird self-hosted blog thingy,
the cartographic hobbies,
sleeping on the hard floor...
This pile of habits
make me wonder:
perhaps I'm
just a
crank.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
short's
better...
fewer words...
well, maybe more:
you got things to say...
so just make sentences,
or run-on masses of text,
sesquipedalian rhythms,
even wax poetic if you can.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
The bear decided to head off west.
I watched her pass by on the road.
I saw a dog following.
So they met each other,
out along the road.
And then the dog,
looking scared,
ran east,
fast.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
I'll be happy when the sun is gone.
Summer here disagrees with me.
It's plagued with obligations.
Too many visitors.
Chores around the house.
Social neighbors.
I'm annoyed.
Lazy:
Guilt.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
feeling desperate disappointment
a seething mass of frustration
just put on a happy face
fake it till you make it
delete that bad app
ignore the signs
go to sleep
next day
breathe

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
the disconnect isn't just deafness...
but rather, jumbled perception,
all the words get entangled
maybe like unlearning
the language you knew
so that you're lost
like tourists
adrift
lost

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Dreamed:
phone call
from my mom,
and she complains,
and complains some more,
and then she announces
her impending departure
to another distant planet;
I say goodbye but she ignores me.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
A tiny bird appeared in the house.
I'd had the big shop door open,
so it easily could have
entered, gone exploring.
Now it was banging
its head against
the windows.
Let me
out!

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
the boat presented some frustrations:
launching it required winch repairs;
then, electrical problems...
was there a broken switch?
or dead batteries?
under the clouds,
five AM,
I sigh...
sit.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
A dull yellow glow touched heavy clouds.
Without rain, still the ground was wet.
Birds entertained each other.
Morning turned time's old gears.
A fish broke the sea.
Green water rolled.
Small waves moved.
Trees swung.
World.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
I was happily starving myself,
when friends and family took charge.
I was robbed, I tell you, robbed!
My freedom surrendered.
My resentment grew.
It's just not fair.
Leave me be.
Assholes.
Fools.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
An eagle lurked on the metal arch,
that framed the dock by the green sea,
waiting for food to appear.
"Tweet," I said to the bird.
The bird ignored me,
but in moments,
saw something,
leapt up,
swooped.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
A robin stood outside my window
on the spruce tree's bedraggled branch
and tilted its head at me.
"Tweet," I said to the bird.
The bird was alarmed,
and flew away,
unwilling
to stay
there.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Recreational asemia:
letting the meaningless language
flow past me like falling rain,
pretending that my mind
has the right pathways,
and can take me
to new thoughts,
insights.
Yes.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Summer has all its expectations,
accumulated pending tasks,
and they leave me overwhelmed.
So I procrastinate.
It's not fulfilling,
burdened by guilt.
Those lurking
projects
wait.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Maybe a frustrated guitarist...
the equine cowboy sought justice.
A radioactive horse
seems to have bitten him.
Swinging in on vines,
kabonger high,
he could yell,
"¡Olé!"
Bonk.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Bright
daylight
burns the sky
for all the world
around four AM
because the latitude
and the season of the year
and the awkward tilt of the earth
conspire to make the mornings early.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
As the international journey
fades from my recent memory,
I'm left with a detritus
of unused foreign words
that swarm, and pile up
against my mind's
exit points,
making
noise.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
My
mother,
in Japan,
with a woman
who called her 'Florence':
then the dream unfolded,
and I was looking for cats,
searching in schools and bus stations...
the air all shimmery like amber.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
When I'm alone, I talk to myself,
in a continuous patter.
But around my deaf uncle,
I have to be quiet.
If I say something,
he'll ask me, 'What?!'
Then he'll want
to know
what.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Well, once every few weeks, or so,
the sun comes from behind the clouds,
to illuminate the world:
the north window turns bright,
in early morning;
the reaching trees
do battle
against
light.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
In this one dream, I'm driving around.
I've got a bright blue rental car,
somewhere in vast Australia.
I find some Mexicans
starting a strange cult
near volcanoes.
They tell me
to get
lost.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
The persistence of identity
can bother me when I wake up.
Am I the same person now,
that I had been last night?
Maybe I'm fresh, new.
With memories
given me
by old
gods.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
No, I'm not really into the sun.
There's a reason I'm in this place...
this cool, misty rainforest
that beetles the ocean.
The sun annoys me.
It's like a weight,
pushing down,
extreme,
hot.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Machines covered the planet's surface,
an inorganic patina,
staining the hills and the seas.
They had overthrown those
who had come before.
Purposelessness
occupied
spinning
minds.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Sad!
Many
mice have died
while visiting
our well-heated home.
I put out traps for them.
They might find some kitchen crumbs.
But the traps have appealing snacks.
Snap! I think: "I'm a lousy Buddhist."

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
There's a certain type of dream I have:
it visits me regularly.
I call it "Mexican Bus."
When I was young, I'd take
the bus all over
through Mexico.
Now I dream
bus trips,
dazed.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Sleep.
Jet-lagged,
overwhelmed
by work's routine,
I've been sleeping lots:
twilight through dawn's efforts.
Normally I'm up at 5,
but lately I sleep much later.
I wake up already exhausted.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
In the end, my travels depressed me.
Revisiting things left behind,
I had to confront losses.
Decisions were taken
that ended old ways.
In this new life,
set apart,
the past
rots.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
with enthusiastic diagrams
I'm planning out my senescence
targeted losses of things
a whole, long catalog
abstract memories
fine procedures
old journeys
new thoughts
plans

– a nonnet.