- jonah meyer
'ode to the monograph' (by Sam Hennessee)
ours were made of wire & mesh, of
bunches of leaves, pressed for thickness
& bound together w/ twig,
ours, they
tell tales as deep as wind
saucy as night
sleepwalking poems –- scattering
vowels &
metaphor alltheway
to mo[u]rning.
we waltz-prance across the parking lot @
World Class Used Autos, where there
were no cars
(used or otherwise
(world-class or otherwise …
we foxtrot on our fingertips, hands
beneath our schvitzy buttocks: see the way
the just-before-dusk sunlight draws
us: little pigeons plucking concrete,
hunchbacked creatures smashing against our own
sleepy shadows.
into / out of
anything.
anywhere anyhow anywho ?
Furthermore, the music of the
wind-tickled trees outside our
window-to-the-world
= one-part whistle
one-part hissing trombone
& a pinch of mint choc.chip .
{ nosong is set in stone.
nor, not shining bright.
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