cento: location of the mind

Was I not 
interested in man?
I don’t care a rap
what people are or believe.
You 
+++++must be superhuman
She 
+++++practically becomes a recluse
He 
+++++may be insensitive
That is their business
 
 
They come to me.
++++++++I lost myself 
++++++++in the very
++++++++properties of their minds
++++++++I could touch it, smell it
++++++++And all have contributed to my pie
From the very beginning 
that 
fascinated me 
even more than I myself knew.

from:
William Carlos Williams
The Practice
reprinted in Narrative Magazine

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DEAD MAN POEMING

ABOUT THE DEAD MAN’S HOLIDAY

this is no country for dead men,
thought the one who was feeling peaked.
the dead man was feeling rained on.
troubles poured down on the head of the dead man.
holiday spirits haunted his waking hours.
the dead man had never tried a hot toddy, but wanted one.
he wanted warmth and sweetness and above all alcohol.
the dead man wanted to receive the spirit.

MORE ABOUT THE DEAD MAN’S HOLIDAY

the dead man would have liked to stroll around the neighborhood, looking at fairy lights.
the lights were twinkling at him through his foggy windshield.
red and green and white and plum and amaryllis and blue blue Christmas blue, they winked.
the dead man coaxed the old, not classic, Mustang across the stop street on the hillside, praying.
the clean black pavement was visible beneath the ice, but his crusty black tires did not know that.
the dead man knew as he knew to the foot how far he was from his front door.
still, the night was clear, and there were stars.
the new year beckoned.

.
.
at Big Tent Poetry, you can find out more about Dead Man poems, and even read some good ones.

Sled for Magpie Tales

Beau D’Arc

I love the spare functionality of you.
The elegance of your material glows
through its water-smooth age patina.
Subtle, subtle the rounding of your
precise angles. Supple, supple the
give within your strength. Vehicle of
my enjoyment through the cold days
and my pleasure even in your rest.

Bois d’Arc, bodark, Osage orange, horse apple

StoryTime

A man is sitting on a barstool
He says:
+++++++++++++++++++++I hate getting old.
His sidebar drinking pal
chimes in:
+++++++++++++++++++++But it beats the alternative.
+++++++++++++++++++++KA-CHING!
+++++++++++++++++++++RIMSHOT!
+++++++++++++++++++++kaBOOM!

There is an alternative
Rock.
country music and algebra have alternative sides.
Alternative Fiction
well, IS alternative,
+++++++++++++++++++++futures, pasts, universes,
+++++++++++++++++++++creations
A woman is sitting in a chair
She says:
+++++++++++++++++++++I’ve forgotten them
If she had a friend, she can’t
remember, so no one adds:
+++++++++++++++++++++The forgetting of dementia
+++++++++++++++++++++is no backward-aging escape
+++++++++++++++++++++into a new sunlit alt-freedom
You fucking omnipotent God
If you existed, you wouldn’t
do this to us

Protected: Considering Forms of Love

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