See no evil
within both eyes
a dull look
little daughters
of the last days
how is the weather
in a tankard of milk
Anxious poems
Anxious poems — a collection of the best works on Poemship.
Monological
the night and I
had excellent discourse
but the gun had a bullet
to point with
and guns talk
of other things
able to undance
the evening out
TV war
a war the devil
could endure no longer
took us away
in our minds
out of where we sat
in an office at home
Spidery
who looks
at the morning
with eight eyes
every day a worse fear
to make up
Ghosted
the bridge out
we stayed a cold night
our way a vein
of spirits and apparitions
stories old as fear
am I not asleep
Some assembly required
I remember myself
in the library
a book to be bound
only I might do
a little coke
my desire growing into ice
like light on a dark day
I know what devil
is within me
for my heart vexed me all night
putting off some small
possible kindness
Diagnostic
I sat on the ground because
that’s what the boulder was doing.
It seemed only right.
I laid down on my back in the leaf duff
so I could join the giant oak tree
in tracking the sun.
But this was a woods with
a clear view beneath the canopy,
everything but the rocks & ferns reduced
to telltale pellets.
I should’ve kept my distance.
On the way home, three times
I felt something on the side of my face
& couldn’t dislodge it.
Hours later, at supper,
a tiny, red & black barnacle of an insect
Survivalists
in ignorance of the present
we copy it
for future use
and go gaze at the dead
I make a cake like an urn
and agree to be merry
my dread hardly suffering me
to speak
Degenerative
in the wood I decay
in the sea I undress
this is my gun
like a common candle
in pain to defend myself
from the light of day
Disaster junkie
we feign innocence
but I have read
the history of the weather
I fear to leave off
though I find myself
full of wind
the very wonders
that we ah at
do us in
Boaty McBoathead
if hits threaten
consider the danger of the sea
debts eating the full
head of a captain
which thinks hard anew
every hour
Logorrhea
my mind trades rest
for more drunk talk
all night not able
to break loose
the plainest words in the world
gather under the bed
I look for one of my own
till my eyes ache
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