Category: Nonnet

ㅁ
Just in case we were having a drought...
well, we were not having a drought.
The rain came and moistened leaves.
The rain came to wash roads.
The rain came and pooled.
The rain fell down.
The rain hung.
The rain
came.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Nah.
Won't work.
Why would it?
Be nice to have.
But I don't know how.
I keep learning new things.
Still, there's always more out there.
And I sometimes get overwhelmed.
So you'll have to patient for now.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
Mash
the keys
and with time
a world is made,
order emerges,
influences spread out,
conquering all time and space,
like a net capturing some fish,
but even then it's not really real.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
I look out the window at the fog.
It's pleasant and calming to see:
a blank slate where I can dwell.
There's no mountain, no sea.
I draft my own world.
That works quite well.
A bird calls.
Fish jump.
Splork.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
If you look at the map, carefully,
maybe you will learn where you are.
But what if the map and world
are not on the same page?
What if you're dreaming
imagined things
and the map
isn't
real?

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
some things lurk and wait and can cause stress
and ask the mind to test its doubts
no ghost can dodge this mind's work
but nor do they bow down
they just furl their souls
drift through loose time
leave their signs
on stones
dark

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
The
world, the
places, the
sky and sea, the
people in it, the
words they tend to use, the
most common expressions, the
scattered semantic fragments, the
ever-flowing meaninglessness, the

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
First:
nothing.
Unholy.
The road's imposed,
the trees forced to yield,
the small streams surmounted,
and the rocks are crushed and spread.
But below, the absences wait.
The potholes are older than the road.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
At the southwest edge of Saint Ignace
a mongo halibut was hooked
the sea surged in sympathy
and the blue-gray waves leapt
and the wind drew lines
while the fish fought
but was caught
reeled in
died.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
A reader noticed all these nonnets.
They queried as to why nonnets?
I said I'd tired of haiku.
Now the default's nonnets.
If you liked haiku,
well, go make one.
Or read one
from before.
Right?

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
The wind came and aroused all the trees.
They danced and waved and carried on.
The sky observed, unobserved.
A dragonfly flew by.
Clouds gathered and sulked.
The sun peaked through.
A branch broke.
It fell.
Creak.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
I plow through time, inconsolable,
as if it were heavy, deep snow,
exhilarated by cold
but unclear on what goals
I should be chasing,
stepping ahead,
feeling feet
go down...
whomp.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
The fog is a cloud suffering doubt.
The fog has some low self-esteem.
The fog is the risen sea.
The fog absorbs the light.
The fog grasps the earth.
The fog is damp.
The fog waits.
The fog
is...

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
The tree's being, unfathomable,
defies gravity for a while,
attempting to run away,
to rise up and escape,
yearning for the sky,
for the cool clouds,
but it can't,
it's stuck,
still.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
A storm from the west presses the sea.
The sea leaps up and climbs the rocks.
It pushes the dock up, down,
and rocks the little boat,
which pulls at its ropes.
Flecks of white foam
line the beach.
The trees
swing.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
I dreamed the states became balkanized.
Nevada was divided up.
The senator from Elko
believed he was a god.
The Las Vegas one
was ten years old.
She asked me
to try
too.

– a nonnet. Dreams are weird.

ㅁ
Still
hours till
morning sun
nevertheless
I'm already up
and my window's open
so I hear the world outside
the purposeful discourse of birds
and the crunch of deer's feet on gravel.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
I once heard that some shamans drilled holes
in the centers of their foreheads,
causing hallucinations,
and sometimes I wake up
in a weird panic,
touching up there,
just in case,
checking:
nope.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
"Tweet,"
birds said.
"Squawk, squawk, squawk,"
others answered.
The conversations
went on, repetitive.
Conclusions may have been reached.
These creatures failed to develop
any true epistemology.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
birds
log on
to twitter
and so begin
a day of tweeting
offering social thoughts
to others who disagree
perhaps expressing opinions
that create bad feelings later on

– a reverse nonnet. Just to be clear, this is about actual birds, and the metaphor goes in that direction, not the opposite direction – I haven’t logged on to twitter in more than two years.

ㅁ
This time of year, the nearing solstice
makes it light when I go to sleep
and light when I wake up too.
With eyes shut in between,
I start believing
that the night's gone;
the day left
running
things.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
I planted a bunch of radish seeds
in my greenhouse, in a planter.
A mouse came and dug them up.
I planted them again.
This time with mouse traps.
I caught a mouse.
Yesterday,
I saw
sprouts.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
A
nonnet
done backwards
starts out quite small
but quickly widens
stretching subsequent lines
stacking up the syllables
adding in more complex syntax
until at last something can be said.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
And
slowly
the short words
stretched themselves out,
becoming longer,
unfurling, banner-like,
propagating, asemic,
distorting unconsciousnesses,
controversially cartographic.

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
Dream:
full of
frustrating
anxiety,
a teacher's nightmare,
you went to the staff room
for some last-minute copies
for a pop-quiz you were giving,
but lo, the copier malfunctioned!

– a reverse nonnet.

ㅁ
The raven walked - danced - along the edge,
perhaps its talons felt the rust
of the sun-cooked trailer's rim.
Glancing down, it saw white:
a discarded tub
made of plastic.
It hopped down
and pecked.
Squawked.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
What is the end result of this thing?
The whole is unsustainable.
Can we even specify?
Perhaps we should discuss.
As a group, I mean.
All us snowflakes:
we're falling,
soulless,
lost.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Long ago, the sun had a garden.
She worked her hands in the damp earth.
Sometimes the stars helped with seeds.
The green things flourished, there.
The moon watched, jealous.
One night, she crept.
She sent clouds.
It rained.
Flood.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
To stack a stone on another stone,
first you must survey your options,
then you must select the stone,
casually lift it,
surprise the other,
finding balance,
placing it
with care:
plonk.

– a nonnet.

ㅁ
Wind,
purple
clouds hanging,
spots of blackness,
patches of white snow,
something greenish, or brown,
inchoate shapes emerging,
gravel on the gray road, waiting,
the sky's first light rendering the world.

– a reverse nonnet.