catapult magazine

if anyone’s up for it, i’d be interested in trying out something that i’ve only done over email with individuals. the way it worked on email was one person would write a line (or two, maybe three) of random poetry, then the other would reply back, doing the same thing, and so on. After a number of exchanges, you generally have an interesting artifact, sometimes more and sometimes less poetic. it would be interesting to try it here.

Anybody up for the challenge? If so, you have to post immediately after you read the following post, and you can’t sit and think about it, just write the first line or two that come to mind and post it—and no editing.

the embrace of bones, knee to knee, clavicle to clavicle,
rattling the polka through the dark

Cash covers One.
Cash covers Nine.
But I, what’s up doc?

I’m alone, leperous, hurt;
tried to play jesus to myself and failed

post the later better batter
of the kitties’ pitter-patter.
Show the cleanly underforth and down for ten.

Thanks! It’s kind of a fun thing to do once in a while. If anyone else wants to start one, I’ll participate. If people want to do one in another style, the starting line is key. By the way, Dan and I both posted without realizing that the other was working on an introductory line—he was gracious enough to clear his out because they really had no relation at all to each other.

For the record, here it is with semi-random line spacing:
-———————————————————————————————

compound eyes distort reality as abdomen separates from a
stinger still pumping venom like love
left behind, blood crashing from the site
shards a burgundy swath like yukon july night

mistakes, unknown pre-dawn moments
don’t know the first from the last, never did:
not unlike curried poems
sewn together on a wedding night,
a discourse of collisions
hatching and scrambling as a spider’s
egg sac slowly coming to life,
floating apart on separate, silent breezes
and silver strands of promise

Time out of mind, time out of mind

everything must go
the way of that garden in winter
but I’ll miss those Nashville nights the most,
the embrace of bones, knee to knee, clavicle to clavicle,
rattling the polka through the dark.

Cash covers One.
Cash covers Nine.

But I, what’s up doc?
I’m alone, leperous, hurt;
played jesus to myself and failed

post the later better batter
of the kitties’ pitter-patter.

Show the cleanly underforth and down for ten.

by *cino

And, for your information, the starting line was about a bee-sting—my wife got stung and was complaining about the swelling on her leg as I was trying to come up with something).

roses are red, violets are blue
nothing stinks as bad as cat poo