39 ppm

                        It’s the quiet ringing
the blue mug
                              of green shit
and almond milk
                                      that brings us
to our measurement
                           the eyes go
back and forth
                              they can’t look away
it’s mesmerizing
                                      isn’t it
the vapor insufflates
                                       itself                   the flower
takes .5 cc of linalool
                                      to the xylem
begins to bend
                           to respirate
to track the sun
                        the moon
and to forget
        that which matters
most
                to no one
anymore
                 is a heart carved out
of a hand—it’s the blood
               the veins the parasitic
sickness
               eliminated by UV



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10 thoughts on “39 ppm

    1. pseudonymous Post author

      It’s a good question, I could ask you the very same thing. So much comes to mind right now. I could answer this in so many different ways. Yet this is the way that it is. It could boil down to a love of poetry; a boundless mind. You know what—it really depends on the piece. Since we’re on 39 ppm I’ll tell you nothing about it what’s the fun in that? O, to reveal, or not reveal—that after writing the title the vision was fished for so-to-speak. It’s hedonistic. If it doesn’t come to me, or hit me hard like a flash of lightning, it’s always curious what will turn up underneath the surface of anywhere, anytime.

      Reply
      1. danielpaulmarshall

        i have an environment that supplies me with what i need. other than that it isn’t much different to your being ‘hit hard like a flash of lightning’. i am unfortunate to have a bound mind though. do you find yourself reading everything for your vocab or do you like botany etc so it comes organically through intrigue?

      2. pseudonymous Post author

        It’s akin to letting go, falling backwards, and embracing the waters of the mind. That deep cold dark feeling of nothingness that reveals the subtleties of everything. It’s a meditation for me. It’s like lighting a fire. You set it into motion you get a reaction you get it burning. The wood turns to ash.

      3. danielpaulmarshall

        When i was younger not that iam old now, i gave myself more to such methods of perceiving of being but now i don’t know about myself or out there so well. i am certainly in dim light after seeing everything so clear.

  1. Ward Clever

    It’s a curious thing, Poetry. You find a vein and mine it until all the gems are gone, or until all the blood is gone, depending on which vein you mean. Sometimes poetry flows, has meter and rhyme, but other times you need to be unfettered and just write what you mean, or whatever comes out.

    Reply
  2. Constance A. Buckley

    The more I read it, the more I get out of it and also realize how much I don’t know of your experience, your world. Which I don’t mind. That is not a put down. We are all unique. Your life is your own.

    Reply
  3. Between Reason

    Well done, I liked the way you broke up the lines, quite the interesting way of controlling the reader’s cadence. Great mechanism too, and verbiage; quite enjoyed the beginning and wordplay ending in “to our measurement”.

    Reply

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