The wind chill is still in the single digits this weekend, so it looks like I’m not going anywhere. Here’s how it works:
You: Gimme 3 words. Keep it as random as possible.
I: Write a short (< 10 lines) poem with those 3 words in it. I MAKE NO PROMISE WHATSOEVER THAT IT WILL BE A DECENT POEM.
You: Are (hopefully) amused.
I guess the theory behind this is that there are no 3 words in the English language that can’t be shoehorned into a poem. (Also, one set of 3 words per person please.)
I worship the crease of your philtrum
and the pink of your tear duct
and the curls in your ear.
Do not listen to the treacle they play
on your soap operas and talk shows.
Leave the pot on the stove for one night-
be my eyelet, and I will be your aglet.
hey you, they might be building a giant vibrator in the new york city skyline
gather up a multi-racial crowd
for its ribbon-cutting ceremony.
crowned with stars above the apathetic streets,
it really ought to be
one of the 88 recognized constellations
We should all go out to the cow field.
Watch them practice their perfect system -
the antidisestablishmentarianism of the herd.
(take careful notes.)
They linger in pastures and splashes of green and brown
until strands of streptococci take them down.
The ichthyologists sing their songs of longing
and sometimes the fishes join in.
As if under piezoelectric stress
cracks start to show in the scuba visors
and gradually their underpants settle
in the bottom of the Mariana Trench.