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Psychic Memoir

Psychic Memoir

bombyonder or bust

NaPoWriMo #18

from now until loneliness disturbs solitude

you will not hunker waiting for scum-filled

aggression to do for itself what its been

doing to your dirtied, fuzzied face 

oh baby, seeing you return like an angel

straight out of a pelt shop is like

finding a dying conversation embarrassed 

for its lack of absence and wit

amazing how few learn to embrace

themselves, remembering something

more like falling through a trapdoor

instead of wearing a detail as a combination


NaPoWriMo #17

everything in the market

burns for what is no more

just like a toaster

imploring its poptart

to return to its hot slot

NaPoWriMo #16

nothing is truly spectacular

all variations on the same

classic rocket ship taking off

ignorant to the millennia of rocket ships

that took off before them

let’s inquire more on this critique

better examine the plastic

weariness of faux advancement

see if we can still stand while

swinging snail-tight predications

those rockets before you were gods

you’re a ship hovering on ancient fumes

inadequacy leads to truth


you should blast away

as if you hadn’t heard a word


NaPoWriMo #15

a troubled reason

a good excuse

begin with a puppet

telling a lie and

ends with a business venture

or weapon triggering

a spontaneous shit storm

you know how

everything has a name

or mouth spouting

unidentified joys

it only takes a shadow

movement lurking, listening,

flapping a toilet paper roll

to put the reason and

excuse together

when you see the crap

cloud approach do you

open your umbrella or

go home

watch from a window

or do you hold your breath

identify an opportunity

for a custom mud hut

in your future?

NaPoWriMo #14

once there were tool sheds

surrounded by homes lived in

with the greatest indifference

until all the homes fell apart

the occupants vowed never to

forget these shining heartbreaks

these testaments to failed place

obscured by weeds and bird shit

the remaining tool sheds now

fade as simple interests, mild

distractions to the ruined monuments

proud sheds full of untouched

hammers and screws

it might have been good to

have a few simple interests

it might have been good not to

fear hitting one’s finger

NaPoWriMo #13

every advantage does not need

to be gift-wrapped in loud action

nowhere waits for its wind-up poet 

to come tiptoeing around a snoring shame

people will continue believing

the whispers doing them solids

will payoff with deeply ethereal endings

remember this the next time you

tidy a smear with a vacuum

to be empty is to be left

with oneself, unspoken for

anything you write

can vanish in its own patina

NaPoWriMo #12

everything is repellent

did you notice, nets


a more imaginative

mosquito might promise

its heart for nothing

more than oversight

all it wants is

to count

for nothing

and continue

NaPoWriMo #11

craft will dwindle to advice and then your

fear of regret lock-steps you off into a sunset

of hopelessly absurd calculations

those seeking respect should wait 

until they’re older with nothing else to 

dread except change in decorum

there’s no such thing as doing it wrong

so go ahead, rescue the moron

intent to peg you a salted pig

honeyed with persistent indifference to

whatever goes in or out of your mouth

there must be a proverb

or manual explaining how your

language is not your fault

NaPoWriMo #10

what if I told you there is effort and

there are those made possible, in part, 

by a minor waterbed spill?

you are not an ignorant genius

nor someone thirsty enough to

drink from a mistake

look, winner, there is no progress

just the saint-run lottery and your kind are

what they call “the odds”

I’m sick of this rethinking

please tell the monster she has an

engrossing texture sculpted into a

necessary emergency

no use sitting down, they can see your

belly rolls from 22 angles

of course it would take a self-portrait to

get it right, but the cost is losing

treasures placed in those folds long ago

winning, I’m told, is dying in a pit of diamonds

but your presence here is so compelling

please treat yourself to something

more affordable, perhaps that glass of

water deemed too cloudy

you are the unforeseen misfortune of our time

relax, your grandmother was right

there are worse things than pubic hair on

your wedding night

NaPoWriMo #9

a point awaits the plain man keeping his teeth

largely echoing human attachments to

become that discarded mouthful 

never too late to practice what nourishes

or better yet, an idea sharpened on a nuzzle

never too late to find sense in looking good