why yes i am napowrimoing

A few of them out there,
or in there, are finished,
but more are in pockets. I call them
my projects, projected
by someone projecting

a light beam, a weightless
idea. When energy's
light, it is fast-running nothing.
It slows when it's spun in
to something. Inertia

increases with mass, and
it's natural for things to
stop moving when mass is at 80
percent. That's still 20
percent airy nothing,

a ratio giving
you - nothing. But heavy.
Your pockets are full but you've - nothing.
A front cover, sure, but
the back is the one with

the price tag. Thus Mazes,
and Regency, Spoilers
Ahead (or behind?) and thus Patron.
Et cetera. But sometimes
you finish, and empty

a pocket. A poem
a day's still a project.
100% is an April.

-

Thus sounds, resounds, the darkling airy spume,
the sea foam gusting from the mouths of men
who once bestrode, colossi, giants, hulks,
and Ozymandii, the earth; thus crack
black waves 'gainst cold notched graves. So dies
remembrance. So I learned from NPR.
Who let the dogs out? Edward Cullen? Rats?
No matter. It is done. A baby yawps,
and words, like works, like jazz, like Yonkers, foxes,
papa's panic palace, Austens - die.
But they were real. But they were real. But they
were real. Their authors should be proud. Hooray!

-

I'm emptying my pockets
I'm zipping up my sweatshirt
I've got my keys and wallet
gonna spend the day.

I'm tying up a bindle
(I guess I am a bindlestiff)
to hold my socks and kindle
I'm tramping towards May.

I Think I Missed One

It wasn't so cruel, only pink
and pink again. How many pinks
can you identify? The sky,
the dogwood, apple, cherry,
magnolia. A house, a dress,
a shoe. An earring like a leaf, a book
without leaves. Nature's first green
is pink I think, and now the green succeeds.
This mother asked her kid, is the tree big
or small. The kid said small, the mom said
she was wrong, but for a tree, you know?
It was a small tree. Now the green succeeds.
No more waffling. I don't know if you can,
but you may.

subway talk

Is that a kindle or is that a nook?

I've seen them, but I think they're not for me.

I like the physicality of books!

The musty pages and the lock and key

of tarnished silver; ink that flowed from pens

of monks long dead; the covers leatherbound

in something (human skin?) that moans; a lens,

that helps you trace the whorls of runes around

the thousand maddened faces scribed within,

suspended by a ribbon. I don't think

that e-ink shackles words that shriek their sins

to damn the heavens quite like standard ink.

Yeah. Reading books has always been my passion.

That and Satan. Guess I'm just old-fashioned.