wMillion Poems

Copyright Jordan Davis.


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wSunday, February 16, 2003



Talking to the book itself,
It's this we are reduced to is it.

In a room of a hundred people
I'd find the one ignoring me.

An unrequited love of absence.
The public journal. The stockade.

Lettering spoiled me for narrative.
Rebellion against the inhumane

Standards became itself unhealthiness.
A bit of sunlight on February's

Tab, even when it stays late
It skips out early. Uh oh, alive

Again. Good is undefined, on
The lam. The anthologist's

Safety goggles. Nobody here but us
Badasses. So far, still flying.

Who doesn't enjoy feeling tiny
Now and again. Waxed. In praise

Of a trance. Without a belief,
Under heavy manners. Red Means.

Go ahead, make us the real thing.
It dares you. Night platform

To declare opera fires name hoops.
The what-is-he-saying feeling,

As opposed to the what-did-he
Just-say. Close your eyes

To get away from the clue vendors.
Radio waves, the radio waves, do

The radio wave.

posted by Jordan #