xlvii.
[this line left intentionally blank]
[this blank intends to leave]
[leave this blank in the future]
[the future is blank i know it]
[it will get worse before it gets better]
[the better cliche is out there]
[there is time to say it before]
[the before i don’t wanna think about]
[this thought left intentionally blank]
[this blank left a thought:]
[hole in thought or the other way around]
[it will get worse before it gets worse]
[ flotsam ]
[ arctic basement ]
xxxix.
plastic is imitating frozen &
the accessory repeats itself &
the beat drops itself &
takes crappy instruction &
washes pizzeria dishes &
the dead bee that stung me &
pedestrian meet mall fountain &
scowling is how i feel &
scowling is how i look &
look at me crushing pennies &
loafing the dust for the future &
forgetting capital’s odor &
slow motioning thru the room &
here’s my one open eye &
xlii.
squeeze an orange in my hand
until the juice drips down
my wrist. back-handed, off-
handed, or look ma no hands.
orange you glad i didn’t show
up like this at the rodeo. orange
you angry about the salad bar.
orange you tired of tired
bros yelling, “get off my pantoum”
and hiding butter knives behind
their tweed backs. scansion can
bite b.h. fairchild’s pet iguana.
instead, enjoy this ugly pause in
an otherwise
xxxii.
i crooned in a love poem.
i stomped out a cigarette in a green poem.
i wore headphones in a pop-punk poem.
i eyed myself in a confessional poem.
i snarled in a feminist poem.
i dug into the earth with a weaponized poem.
i dug into my guts with a sterile poem.
i stood still / a poem stood down.
i spelunked in a skymall catalogue poem.
i turned the volume up in a losing streak poem.
i brushed against moss in a california poem.
i left coffee in a bassoon quintet poem.
i asked a question in a poem with four walls.
i asked a poem for directions but it was only the pavement.
xxix.
roll call: commander-in-minor,
lapperson, choke clerk, puh-lice,
live ringer, foot-in-mouther,
granderdaughter, honoroo,
nate doppelganger, payphone
repairman, swashburgler,
flame throwa, aimbot, thriller,
sequel director, phlebotomist,
nobot, reverse pianist, human
millipede, human tiger, tame
clown, precedent resident,
cluehound, fog chaser, narc,
b-side, historical interpreter,
grave architect, bowlcut
v.
deep morning: good coffee, bad body, good
fuel, bad source of clothing, good hunker
down, bad hunk of bread, good morning my
something, deep in the folds of my etcetera
sunken afternoon: third cup of office coffee,
carpal tunnel wrists, the johnson account,
disgusting microwave, my love, my darling,
your texts are foremost in my mind
evening, all its own: sore spot, self as cannon,
self as shield, the robotics of desire and other
sad sad stories. these two pounds of asparagus
aren’t going to smell themselves. shortly
after intermission i stretched my arms up
and touched the ceiling, the attic dust.
Nate Logan and JJ Rowan are collaborative sonneteers who write across approximately 2,274 miles. He was born and raised in Indianapolis. She lives in Southern Oregon's Rogue Valley. He's editor and publisher of Spooky Girlfriend Press. She sometimes teaches poetry and dance. Their chapbook mcmxciv. was published by Shirt Pocket Press and featured on Chapbook Chat.