ㅁ while entire surging seas are crossed over, something's left behind; the affective anchor lies abandoned alongside so many aimless skeletons trudging around and murmuring dreams
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ while entire surging seas are crossed over, something's left behind; the affective anchor lies abandoned alongside so many aimless skeletons trudging around and murmuring dreams
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ looking down from the zooming airplane we note each cloud casts its shadow perfectly against landscapes rumpled by the passage of a time so slow whole continents have drifted like swans past
– a nonnet.
ㅁ there's a detachment that arises when traveling to old places - once willfully forgotten - they're now resurrected like shadow kingdoms and there's nothing different... faded... lost...
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I have this one friend in Korea who often speaks Spanish with me - that's how we met long ago. That language is rare here. We met in Suwon, one cold winter, and we talked... became friends.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I'm walking, trying to do magic. If I follow these well-known paths, that I walked in times before... somehow I'll reconnect my current being with some past self who knew things: what to do.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I crossed the geomantic ocean to visit an old, green country inhabited by those ghosts that no one remembers; but they have projects, undertakings: they make us feed them dreams
– a nonnet.
ㅁ It's hard to write a poem about poems because the word 'poem' is awkward. We're told it's two syllables. But frankly, as I speak, it's only got one. When I write it, metric doubts rise up: "poem."
– a reverse nonnet. To be clear, “poem” rhymes with “home,” for me.
ㅁ Tides refute the shore's rocks, expose secrets, and as the sea goes, so the kelp and starfish must surrender to ravens who pick at the bright detritus while confabulating noisy tales
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ So. Let's talk. To explain reverse nonnets, you should understand that since they start narrow, with curt words and ellipses, you're left with the vague impression that you're starting an intervention.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ A nonnet can break monotonies of a neverending word-stream. Its waning rhythms lull you, hint at finality, suggest some closure, reductively. It's in fact only rules.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ While I was sleeping I tried to think. But that's hard when dreams interrupt. Here you are, thinking along, and suddenly you see... a desert landscape, former students on buses singing songs.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The days stretch out like empires of light, encroaching on night's defenses, and the night's rearguard actions, sniping at dawn's edges, fail to slow the tide; aggressive beams of sunlight push through, win.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Let's consider this proposition that he says: "It's never so good, that it couldn't be better." It's my uncle's mantra... quite pessimistic, a performance to forestall risky joy.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I hang some sentences in a row, like the tanned pelts of animals. You can wander among them, hoping to find nice ones, but each is less fine than previous, and at last they're just dumb.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Dead. Dull days. I'm alone - no customers - in the store all day. So I have a theory: people have paid their taxes, now they don't have any money to spend in retail establishments.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ I photographed our bright galaxy, while I wandered as a chilled ghost through the paths of our forest, noting, but not fearing, a bestiary of creatures: bears, deer, otters... in my dream.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ You have something you meant to achieve? Then life introduced obstacles? You just procrastinated? Consider that all past. Disregard failures. Instead, live, now: contemplate random things.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Two ducks swam to the mouth of the creek. One duck was cleaning its damp wings. The other stood and walked out. It looked around the beach: gravel strewn with stones. Quite unimpressed, it turned back, swimming north.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ It was important to confront it: this morass of uncertainty, a density of fierce doubts so unprecedented that I no longer bothered to sleep but instead vigiled nights...
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The world insists on ignoring ghosts. This is to the ghosts' benefit. It frees them to haunt at will. They can hang, unnoticed. They can poke and prod, induce visions, alter things, visit, dance.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The sun put in a dawn appearance, but by eight the clouds had returned. The illumination fades, and it becomes diffuse. The trees accept gloom, and meditate on purpose, on sky, earth.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The dream was an intractable bog. I was working on a cruise ship. There were events for seniors. I spotted someone nearby - my stepmother's face. Then she was gone. A woman told me jokes.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Once, driving across North Dakota, I crashed into a butterfly. At the time I didn't know, but later, stopped for gas, its beautiful corpse hung there limply: the bumper gave it rest.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The clouds duly presented themselves for our cursory inspection. Their shapes and colors and lines manifested, dreamlike: a painterly view, as if brushstrokes had been drawn across air.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The seagull sat, fat and round and white, as if a short break from eating might perhaps be justified; perched on the metal arch over the wood dock, watching the world, witnessing sun, sea, trees.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The moon's disk peered down through the trees, lapping at their ragged branches, like an over-eager dog. A wind shifted the trees; the moonshadows danced and drew patterns on the wall. So I watched.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Hearing the birds begin their strange songs outside my lair's attic window, heralding an early spring, I'm filled only with dread. Spring is not my thing. The elderly awaken... impose tasks.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Apropos yesterday's reflection: Arthur and I skyped with my mom. "You doing anything fun?" she asked him, just to talk. His answer: "Not yet." Seventy-nine... maybe time to have fun.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Living with Arthur and maintaining any peace of mind is quite hard. These days, he's like his father: obdurate resentment and pessimism, unwavering, flavored with false cheer.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The temporary glacier out there, made of snow and ice and chilled mud, is gradually unmade by the visitations of churlish raindrops, by the mad gusts of dumb wind. The yard clears...
– a nonnet.
ㅁ down the steps snow-laden to the hollow with fallen branches where the treehouse stairway provides access to the space damp with the rain and melting snow suspended there among greenery
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ the atmosphere teems with sadnesses exhaled by all the aimless ghosts that populate the margins of our bland perceptions but when confronted fade right away like vapor rising up
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The light comes early enough these days, that I can make coffee, breakfast, by the light from the window. But that will change again, next week, when the change - daylight savings - strange custom... remakes night.
– a nonnet.