green is the best color

here are some word pairs for you to expand into a poem. standard drill–drop one pair, re-order the lines as you like:

placid laced
courier cliff
manage tail
cold concrete
wilt tile
erect wither
pontoon mountain

i am a void in the atmosphere, a gap in the air
shaped like a man, you can see my faint refracted outline;
a column of gasses in the middle, mouth to cloudy lungs.

your hand is excluded from this sacred space as
you try to wave through me, try to feel the void;
where breath cannot go, there flesh too is banned.

what then can occupy this vacuum, can hold this shape?
it is not a vacuum, it is room and space for a spirit.
a spirit, a spirit; for time it holds the air at bay.

by the spirit i do not see past my glasses so
i take them off like stones to uncover a sepulcher.
my stomach demands that i eat supper, even late.

am i adam? what alabaster apple did i put in my mouth?
arlington holds three antagonists and i am their leader; no,
four antagonists, and Pride is their leader. all of us know me.

Expanded from six pairs of words suggested for the purpose:

We are sitting on a cliff, shoes scraping the ledge, sun sneaking away.
There are two curdled clouds–tiny storms compacted, stifled by elastic air.
Iron bars pierce the water, generate symbols of eternity on its surface.
I develop a lump in my throat; to a body of water, anything is sharp.
And as we wonder whether good has died, whether we can be redeemed,
a fish parts the silence of the floor, stings me with the echo of a splash.

(given was:
cliff sun
storm elastic
generate iron
sharp develop
floor echo
vomit surreal
discard one pair)

echoes support me from inside, and it’s cold in this human cave
i’ve a skeleton of gauze and ligaments, for my skin knows only what dust weighs
will you give me something to eat? will you make me full?
i can touch you but my tongue is metal, my passions dull.

This structure suits me.
Syllables click past, neatly–
ticks on a ruler.

I feel your body.
Skeletons are precise, clean,
touching perfectly.

Precision forms the
mind of an engineer, the
soul of the builder.

These haiku are safe:
no atom of language will
go unnoticed here.

The comforts of men
are machines. Our beds are hard,
our cities are webs.

I will draw this form.
I will build a body on
bones of syllables.

hello stranger.
your face is red;
your eyes are
your eyes are
bloodshot. why?
why are you mimicking me?
is this some sortof insult?
i’m tired; no,
no, don’t back away.
yes, there, there,
lets lean against
lean against…
your forehead is cold.
when i stare
at you this way
so close, through
our eyebrows,
noses together,
moist breath,
you look like
you look like
me…
except drunk.
oh, i see now.

*

i’ll go to bed
soon but
yeah soon
but first i have
a question:
why are we so empty?
why are we so loudly empty?
hold on i’m
going to

ptuh, anyway
i don’t feel
ptuh
any more empty
now than i did
a minute ago.
is there anything
that will fill the
fill the hole?
someday?
my ears are ringing.
i’m so tired.
i’ll leave you here…
well no i guess i won’t.

i looked at you tonight–
tried to just press one eye, or the other
with a swaying, ten-foot pole made of air.
i couldn’t keep it aligned;
my south-pole stare, your south-pole stare…
the waves of the room pushed and dragged.

but oh, your north poles!
the noodles on the table were a foothold.
the table was a wall, my drink a refuge.
memories and canceled stares–
bodies, details, clothes clicked past my gaze
i always inhale a while through finished straws.

enthrallment requires of me surety

but the vague only highlights the tremble and pause

forming the ribs that define the empty,

the hollow, reverberant tent that i am.



to tell the good story a core full of gore

i don’t have- to convince you these dreams are all true

takes a weight of insistence takes organs and blood.

so i’m picking the flesh of the christ from my teeth.