That friend that starved you after school: a saltine nightmare
of chickens don't know when they're dead.
In the brothel shred zucchini very thin STORE IN A COOL, DRY PLACE.
But — if I stained my Apron —
narrowing by which a squirrel shucks a spruce A bird dabbed me, a virgin soil, as I issued
Could I clean them in the creek?
Dear Customer, No, there are no nuts in here
(it's a long story)
-
Credits: This was a collaborative cento composed by the Spring 2021 Creative Writing: Poetry workshop at Temple University, ENG 2003 SECTION 002; in-class gameplay facilitated by Alexa Smith.
A note to the developer: The authors were very upset that they couldn't eat any snacks they found until the end, despite multiple investigations of the kitchen and pantry. One author described this as a "SCAM." The title is their commentary.
courgettes, squash, marrow, carrots, morsel, gobbet, trace of maple syrop, fat On an onion tuft Above her, new layers keep arriving; when the zucchini And whereto? borders, journeys, archives, landscapes, reading, time, memory, myth, legend, time slushes, staining purple, a few tongues stained, too, long pick necks pink curling and blue in the crayfish-stream The earth's crust shifting — may turn into fields fire-roasted with some char remaining, those strata of sour dead.
I'm sorry I don't have more on hand that makes people wonder for the sake of our starving hearts, nature I picture whole streams, new currents, Any brick will do. Lacquered over ...
And yet, there's still so much to be done in the house If nothing else, it at least gives me a chance to think
His father sits him down and recommends an anchor tattoo. concomitant gaps, tie-offs and recommencements or parchment paper is fine I'm sorry I don't have more on hand The coffee that's drowned in the wake of our passing Someone boiling a pot of water without the expensive airfare, Low in calories The arc of stars each in its different way an encounter with life's unresolved questions and mysteries, not yet. behold it well! Keep your eyes on your beautiful dream.
our long dusk drives Without anguish, quietly drifting. — or do like my yiayia does when the zucchini (it's a long story) suck, for the sake of our emptiness, the sweet Senga Sengana Strawberries I drink sunrise thoughts, distances traveled Over the fence — A valid receipt is required for all returns. So now we wait.
Morning — only the seed of Noon — with busted slats or hinges, strollers with A crowning mirage or a question I picture whole streams, new currents, Idly, not sobbing, not scurrying, the area of a map that encloses information about the map itself. borders, journeys, archives, landscapes, reading, time, memory, myth, legend, Some day, this beach too — before everyone arrives.
This is to reassure his viewers, who continually fear his death. like Kafka's essay I see it, Without anguish, quietly drifting. A nameless Bird — a Stranger I would rest a bit there or take a plane— I won't be held accountable The arc of stars I picture whole streams, new currents, galactic slurs even, luminescences, plasmas, And yet, there's still so much to be done playing for a moment in the air—even shapes She tugs down the map to look and it flies up again like a windowshade.
A room, empty: I'm sorry I don't have more on hand Everything else remained the same. Over the fence — Cell phones, cellular tablets, and cellular that's all that's left, for my hair-line And in the morning her trails are washed away. into a valley, too thin a stream to cut its nature the exact moment PASTA If you want to transport yourself With the spring, now
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That friend that starved you after school: a saltine nightmare
of chickens don't know when they're dead.
In the brothel
shred zucchini very thin
STORE IN A COOL, DRY PLACE.
But — if I stained my Apron —
narrowing by which a squirrel shucks a spruce
A bird dabbed me, a virgin soil, as I issued
Could I clean them in the creek?
Dear Customer,
No, there are no nuts in here
(it's a long story)
-
Credits:
This was a collaborative cento composed by the Spring 2021 Creative Writing: Poetry workshop at Temple University, ENG 2003 SECTION 002; in-class gameplay facilitated by Alexa Smith.
A note to the developer:
The authors were very upset that they couldn't eat any snacks they found until the end, despite multiple investigations of the kitchen and pantry.
One author described this as a "SCAM."
The title is their commentary.
An excellent poem! And valid criticism. Next patch will include Gamified Snacking Systems and a perpetually-draining hunger bar.
courgettes, squash, marrow, carrots,
morsel, gobbet, trace of maple syrop, fat
On an onion tuft
Above her, new layers keep arriving;
when the zucchini
And whereto?
borders, journeys, archives, landscapes, reading, time, memory, myth, legend,
time slushes,
staining purple, a few tongues stained, too,
long pick necks pink curling
and blue in the crayfish-stream
The earth's crust shifting — may turn into fields
fire-roasted with some char remaining,
those strata of sour dead.
just dust.
Behold this compost!
lane, trail, stone fence, narrative, coffee
whatsoever to do with endeavoring
I am looking for the coffeeshop?
"My medium is prose," W.G. Sebald once declared
of "Song of Myself"
—and, compared to the other fountain pen I have,
trigger. Don't bother asking
And in the North, the Star —
Fed all vegetarian diet
This is why, you said,
in the house
THE BERRY PICKERS
I'm sorry I don't have more on hand
that makes people wonder
for the sake of our starving hearts,
nature
I picture whole streams, new currents,
Any brick will do.
Lacquered over
...
And yet, there's still so much to be done
in the house
If nothing else, it at least gives me a chance
to think
RUN
His father sits him down and recommends an anchor tattoo.
concomitant gaps, tie-offs and recommencements
or parchment paper is fine
I'm sorry I don't have more on hand
The coffee that's
drowned in the wake of our passing
Someone boiling a pot of water
without the expensive airfare,
Low in calories
The arc of stars
each in its different way an encounter with life's unresolved questions and mysteries,
not yet.
behold it well!
Keep your eyes on your beautiful dream.
on our way out.
& latch it to
our long dusk drives
Without anguish, quietly drifting.
— or do like my yiayia does
when the zucchini
(it's a long story)
suck, for the sake of our emptiness, the sweet
Senga Sengana Strawberries
I drink sunrise thoughts,
distances traveled
Over the fence —
A valid receipt is required for all returns.
So now we wait.
Like all braises,
I won't be held accountable
until every branch hangs sopping,
And I tip — drunken —
on the edge of an empty day.
We only use
(VERY IMPORTANT)
Her undecaying Cheer
BRENDAN,
Morning — only the seed of Noon —
with busted slats or hinges, strollers with
A crowning mirage or a question
I picture whole streams, new currents,
Idly, not sobbing, not scurrying,
the area of a map that encloses information about the map itself.
borders, journeys, archives, landscapes, reading, time, memory, myth, legend,
Some day, this beach too —
before everyone arrives.
This is to reassure his viewers, who continually fear his death.
like Kafka's essay
I see it,
Without anguish, quietly drifting.
A nameless Bird — a Stranger
I would rest a bit there or take a plane—
I won't be held accountable
The arc of stars
I picture whole streams, new currents,
galactic slurs even, luminescences, plasmas,
And yet, there's still so much to be done
playing for a moment in the air—even shapes
She tugs down the map to look and it flies up again like a windowshade.
A room, empty:
I'm sorry I don't have more on hand
Everything else remained the same.
Over the fence —
Cell phones, cellular tablets, and cellular
that's all that's left,
for my hair-line
And in the morning her trails are washed away.
into a valley, too thin a stream to cut its
nature
the exact moment
PASTA
If you want to transport yourself
With the spring, now