It’s day 15, and all downhill from here, NaPoWriMoers. Are you hallucinating yet? Excellent. Today’s prompt: a parody. Here's a fine example from the cinema.
Now, onto the poems.
Nate on a Plane Pt. 1
“Fritz is the name I gave to all my dachshunds,”
says the dermatologist sitting next to me. The dachshund’s eyes
are howling something not Fritz. He doesn’t look like a Fritz.
“Even the girls,” he says, “I named them Fritz.”
Something still feels off. A flight attendant stands in the aisle,
her hair swaying like wheat, despite lack of wind.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asks.
The dermatologist asks for some water for Fritz.
My eyes are dry. The reading light has gone nova.
Posted here.
*
15.
I celebrate the tanginess of your gruntly curves,
amorphous, as sweetly mispronounced
as the hush of pampas grass. I enthuse
about you. Watch me rotate it with this toggle
made of syllables. I want to be accommodating,
as concise as water. When you don your armor
as shiny as Corvettes I ping all over the place;
I chew faster and with a bawdy smack.
The days you’re gone float like goldenrod savannahs
replete with polecats instead of big tawny ones.
Am I imposing again, repositing the denim fantasy,
the one we’ve mocked of all its flavor?
Wring it again. The optics are still pristine,
the audio sharp as architecture.
Posted here.
*
Beachcombing Robots
Last ocean & blue
sky. Beachcombing robots
supercede us long
after we’re gone.
The segmented hoses
of their gentle arms—
violence is stoked
by hunger,
despair by thirst.
To take it all in,
like a steady stream
of irritating smoke.
Even under your skin
it’s still you—a million
little reactions you have
no idea about.
What does it even look like
inside your lungs?
To this day, still a mystery
to yourself & everyone else.
Mysteries sell
very well,
but not yours—unsolved
& with no apparent motivation.
Posted here.
*
Friday the 13th
The Knights Templars
and freemasonry
are best exemplars
of superstitious ennui.
In 1307
13 October,
It wasn’t heaven
‘twas a Friday, sober.
The pope, the king
arrested or killed
the Masonic ring
Bad luck fulfilled!
And so on this day
Masons remembered
the unlucky way
Freemasons dismembered.
The 13th, Friday,
is not for a monk
it’s a mason’s day
to get stinkin’ drunk.
Posted here.
