*I asked an AI to write a song about a breakup. This is that song*
To re-collect is to gather up the remnants of an old cloth, shake off the moths and hair of former companions and wrap it around the shrug of current concerns
Kiss your tired eyes
Fruit is rotting in the fridge
You sleep in your socks
(written by a chatbot)
Thirteen billion years ago two galaxies
kissed each on the napes of their necks
like reuniting grandmas.
We found that bird, neck snapped and bloody on the deck under the window. Towers look like skies. you said gnawing on the end of a bone. The skin is the best part.
I spend my days groping for the latch of a closed door – Henry James
this country is a glamour
imposed upon the forest
I like the idea of limiting the number of words in a poetry collection in the way a painter limits a palette. A vocabulary made of basic words. Words repeating, showing up in multiple poems, shifting in meaning, standing in for complex thoughts, experiences, memories. Private metaphor. Memoir in code.
A spoon, a bird, a pie, a chesterfield.
peered into the meringue
stiff peaks sticky
on my tongue
*experiment with mixing text at Language is a Virus*
you are lollipop
you are sugar
kiss you are
moss you are
the rain has my heaven,
and all this is picture to the rainbow
*using a variety of tools at Language is a Virus*