Day 6 Out My Window

My lungs loiter in the red bud tree,
a cough stalking them below. The usual birds
pop along and pluck the soggy lawn. They don't even notice
when the cough, in its five-day beard and ragged flannel,
climbs through fuchsia blooms, roughs up my bronchi,
leaves a bloody ransom note in my throat.

Day 5 Golden Shovel

the days, an apparition
of history, theses faces
thinking, crowd
those mugging petals
and wetly parse
blackened boughs

Day 4 Lune

*
no sirens tonight
no wind, no thought twisting
in the basement

*
one thing led
to another and we just 
ended up here

*
one more glass
of red wine before bed?
if you insist

Day 3 Charm (For Sleep)

let the bloom close 
let the bloom close
let the bloom close
and
remain that way
until day
until day

Day 2 Based on a Myth

After we rode a long way
     we arrived.  Things had happened. There'd been snakes.
Two or more moons at once.
       People who'd sprung fully formed from rocks, trees. Or grew quick and awful
in what had been cornfields.
     We went also without sun for a long, long time. And rode on. And on. 
And on. Sometimes, Fear climbed our backs, strapped onto us. Sometimes we crawled.
     But we arrived. We'd made it through.

Day 1 Bibliomancy

So, the good folks at NaPoWriMo.net sent me to Reb Livingston's Bibliomancy Oracle for my first prompt.  The oracle spoke. It said:

here begins the 

mechanics of art 

and therefore the 

end of it. 

     *from “in all honesty,” by Austen Roye

To which I replied:

I disagree with his machinery. I disagree with foil moons.

Consider this a caution. Consider leaving soon.

I’ll not be true. I’ll not be fair.

I’ll take dominion everywhere.

He'll see how gadgetry manifests

and then can DIY the rest.

Another April

And here I am counting down to another NaPoWriMo! Ready. Set. Po!