Poem of the Day
Pos de chantar m’es pres talenz
By William IX of Aquitaine
I am William, who by nature needs to chant triste now, I’ll make
this song from it
I am William, who by nature needs to chant triste now, I’ll make
this song from it
three deer, large as memory objects. / They stood in a circle / as if they knew life was a game.
I’m a Keats bot
so are you
That summer I learned Biblical Hebrew / with Christian women heaving themselves / toward ministry one brick building at a time.
the angels might get so sad / knowing what I do / as I mourn over you / in this weird atonal interlude
I love green / tourmaline the most / to look at it / is to become a leaf / falling
Everyone in the world, / whatever their disposition, / seemed to be crying at once
The Yangtze River in China lost its nerve / and wanted vengeance.
the summer rolls up its black tongue: from inside the machine
I affirm my devotion to your ingenious application, allowing you to track my whereabouts across all devices.
The part / that flusters some, that flusters no one.