a poem about the uncertainty of our future
A poem about appreciating living life without knowing the future.
What magic does the amulet summon?
"You get on now, miss. I know how your kind work. I feed you and the next thing I know twenty of your kin come to my door a-begging."
A collaborative poem using predictive text
what if we flip this crimson doubt release each expectation lark to skies refilled from looming drought would we still form a question mark beneath astonished flannel sheets our viscous whispers drench the dark forgotten hist'ry made complete would we still form a question mark If I'm omega hanging, high, above the finite point you …
Can I be your quicksilver—that slick Forever, that satiny poison you long to have near but are too afraid to taste? (Even the shadows under your feet radiate) And may the line you walk between the steel pillars of this city, the threads you lay on gum-speckled sidewalks, down regretful subway tracks, and over the rocking …
I am unlocked. I paint the 'closet' red so there will be no doubt, braid six wreaths weekly—one for each wife, each murder. Still, his specter looms in the wallpaper, the coatstand. Six candles flicker in the darkening room; I whisper to them nightly, thank you, thank you.
TRANSCRIPT from The Flint Journal (Flint, Michigan), 6 Jan 1963, p. D7: Still 'Farming' Flint Man Marks 97th Birthday Nathaniel Lewis, who is 97 today, has been a farmer all his life. Last summer he cultivated a small plot of corn and berries. Lewis lives with his daughter, Mrs. Nora Miley, at 1482 Alberta St. …
The girl waits with her fist