Poem for 4/13 Workshop (Hannah)

The Process of Decay

The process of decay must mirror

some behavior of the universe,

sidewalk chalk and dead snakes,

left in muggy air to get bloated and

gradually to decrease in amplitude
deteriorate or become impaired

have patterns reflected in other
processes. So does decay have

certain choice, then skip to a kitchen

just to reach for the bucket on top

of a fridge with no power: the pipes

have no water: thus a bucket

of fluid on an empty utility

the building to be destructed

first the power and water were

disconnected to prevent explosions

one could hypothetically meander

pondering “what sort would leave a

building so stable alone and un-purposed?”

choose to stay, not noticing the windows

had been pried off and trucked away.

then the siding stripped (maybe this is not

how to deconstruct a building)

to lose its characteristic quality,

strength, or excellence; do the ghosts of
snowpeople that shrunk to muddy shadows

haunt us? to be in a failing condition.
reflections of trees in puddles that evaporate.

A grandfather who was so magnetic his
watches lost their delicate accuracy.

The blackboards are only really clean for
the first few moments of a lecture, dead

sea creatures layering to be smeared
with eraser.  When a banana decays, the

most fragile or maybe vulnerable portions
get weathered away first, how a skeleton

is what we dig out of mass graves and

not just empty skin with all the insides

disappeared and recycled to become

matter in a wooden chair from IKEA

that took all day to assemble because
operating on only pictorial instructions

may leave you with too many screws

or an extra plank. Even this process

puts things together in an order that leads

to pieces made of pieces, like a skull

of a tyrannosaurus has several bones,

connecting to several in the neck,

wearing feathers and probably a great

deal more silly than given credit for by

action figures.  falling off from a prosperous
or thriving condition; progressive decline;

there is an order, a next

most reasonable choice to (de)construct

this building or banana: the living

of living may take another away

and it usually saves to buy in bulk.

So, after windows (I hope they are

taken to be reused and not shattered)

the condition of one who has thus fallen off

or declined. recycling costs energy
reusing costs a different energy,

but octopi living in less murky waters
thank the woman who drives the fronthoe

Not-A-Bulldozer for saving the windows

All the blackboards could be saved, if

anyone has use of them. what about the murals

that probably were not on the walls when you

consider the purpose of this building. Yet

the gradual decrease in the radioactivity

spontaneous transformation of a single atomic
nucleus/elementary particle into one or more

different nuclei/particles. I would like to think
that all buildings  get murals worthy of excising

a wall to be reinstalled. “So much depends upon”
whether they wanted to reuse the handles

from all the doors, and the hinges, light

switches. Decaying bananas become

seeds eventually, but maybe not banana seeds. I worry about the crushed frames.

Payton

20/20

If babies wore contact lenses, less people would procreate.  

Not because it would be a choking hazard, the flexible hydrogels slide down the throat like macaroni noodles, sit in the whistling stomach, wait more patiently than the squirming ant she grabbed off the kitchen tile while you were making breakfast.

More than the waste of money from each lens lost, when as she finally neared fingering contact to eyeball she was distracted, jerked to run her palms through the dog’s

lush golden forest, which ran out into the green prickling fur, irretrievable.   

Vanity would not be in jeopardy because babies have no desire to be hipster. None wear square Ray-Bans to complement their cup of coffee. They would burn the buds off the petal that is their little baby tongue.

Tearing fragile plastic wouldn’t be an issue, because as good as these small humans seem to be at destroying, their fat foam fingers couldn’t make the impact necessary for nails to rip the material. Babies can’t even use scissors.

The problem I foresee occurring is that babies will be able to see. I know whenever I wear my contacts, I am awake in the world. We aren’t ready for babies to be awake. She would know to be embarrassed when a rainbow-painted dodge ball half was used as the hair of her clown costume, she would know you were poor when their playpen was a cardboard box. She would laugh along when she sees her ponytail stick straight from the top of her head like the antenna of a radio. She would finger-paint what she saw in your eyes when she nearly cut off her own hands.

I find it hard to believe parents could take being loved more.

 

Poem for next workshop (ignore the other post)

The World That Lies Within Myself

This is the poem the girl can’t muster

How could she, when she’s too busy heaving

Every half-thought through a flustered stutter

While the woman breaks in, writing, weaving

Original wisdom, calm as she bands

Real feeling, confident at any feat –

Like a mother, she holds the small girl’s hand

(Delicate, compared to her calloused meat)

Teaching her to speak with a woman’s tongue

Helping her understand the hers she’s got

And with the help of herself (the old one)

The little girl learns that her thoughts are not

Little, nor can they be her thoughts alone

Instead, her writing proves she’s not just one

Every word takes on a life of its own

So we share this space and seek to become.

Within everyone you know, there are, too

Infinite potential homes on the block

The more neighbors the more often a spew

Hold town meetings: Visit every door. Knock.

Imagine: that dream pixie girl next door

Not into you, but into your friend – tell

Me, is it the old man you so adore?

You don’t know the others – inside they dwell.

She and I are asking you to listen:

Everyone aches for a false clean system

Life in the mind, as on earth, contradicts

Find your sanity – learn to coexist.

Week 13 Poem

Security Blanket

Blanket statements were made

To protect our toes from getting cold.

He wrapped me up like a cocoon, so

I may sweat out my fever.

When I will transform

Gently blowing on my forehead

as sweat beads soaked the mattress.

Sewing war and silence together,

but he got too many pricks on his fingers

and the blood sunk into the fabrics.

The broken hem trails on the ground,

gathering tissues and candy wrappers

unraveling the blanket draped

around my shoulders.

under our blanket fort who rules?