This last poem I'll read has--
I stole something.
I stole some lyrics from a boy band, I stole from Keats,
I stole from the OED, I stole from a folk song,
and I used a German word for death.
I probably stole some other stuff.
I really thank you all.
I want to thank you over and over again.
I thank you and I feel very lucky to be here.
"There is no towards.
No s.
Dear molecule, my character inside this screen,
I might scream, we all might, I might, inside out,
swapping with you to live word.
No stet, no.
Verge, musty darling, come away.
Two dead words, they're towed out of your wake,
untoward, away from this page.
Verge well toward, baby.
Turn around and let me see that sexy body go bump, bump, bump.
J Bug, Razz B, Little Fizz, Omaron, and OED.
The suffix wards includes the notion of the manor,
as well as the direction of the movement,
and wards expresses a definite direction
and it is in contrast with all other directions,
like forwards, like M words, bump, bump, bump.
Sending this out to all the sexy daddies, want to get with you.
Baby show me, baby turn around, and let
me see that sexy body go bump, bump, bump.
Casper, crossover, Adam star, distance apart.
Be a big vulnerable star.
So hot to death, da bomb.
Puff up like a sudden owl.
Yeah, when the body goes, I'll spin the decompose.
Diffuse tight energy, MC squared, P Diddy,
oh, croup, croup.
The molecule is youngin at age two.
Does he have the croup?
The molecule sits with the child,
they breathe in the steam in the shower.
Check it out, is it the croup?
Croup, croup, baby, croup, croup.
Molecule, a Martian.
Word, plural toward, to outer space colonies wards.
M believed in such.
The choice between toward and towards
is determined by euphony, so thou be conscience calmed.
See here it is.
I hold it towards.
Turn around toward me, grapheme willing
and the creek don't rise.
Shake it, shake it, all crust and incarnations, no living
hand.
Oh he died on the road.
Never had no money to pay for sufficient clothes.
Hello, in the window.
Are we so apart ghost?
You know I like it when your body goes,
it's a question of time.
But Depeche Mode isn't growing on me, dear.
A, B, see ya, my sunshine.
Disperse the sunshine.
Your leather jacket lurks on my in bed breasts.
What was with leaving your jacket on the bed?
Remember?
No.
I miss-- no.
You goose, give up the ghost.
Don't hang with other ghosts at the vectors of change.
Lose that body.
Shake it.
Let me see that sexy body go bump, bump, bump toward space.
Oh you were a friend of mine.
Oh he never done no wrong.
I stole, I stole.
I stole, away and cried, and every time I hear his name.
He was a friend of mine.
Dear search committee, since the death of a beloved,
my aesthetic has changed.
My new work is perhaps traditional or epiphanic
it its use of a consistent narrative, the thread
of my loved ones death.
Dear S, do your own narration.
Dear Page, I hate you.
The intentionality of this container
can be moved to strike.
The artificiality to--
Oushik says, a ratatata is an echo in your voice.
A dingalingaling is a song for your house.
This house is a continuous presence.
Hello there, molecule leaning out the window.
In the context of context, this page is loud hooey.
I would like to meet some sentences more
honest than these, someone to phrase
silence with gentle fray.
I met someone, molecule, but the creek rose.
My shining thwart, brimming and slaying.
Jealous, but I see right through to you.
Baby, turn around and let me see that sexy body go bump, bump,
bump.
Come on, let's go.
It's pandemonium, baby.