[A Blogfriend Tweetd]

A blogfriend tweetd:
his personal favorite blogpost?
a post minus close-reading sausage.
All he writes is close-reading sausage.
He makes better close-reading sausage than I could if I did.
I haven't made close-reading sausage since proctors demanded.
What I make is disqualified: I don't make close-reading sausage.
I just tweeted: Your Overlords have granted you
exceptional one day savings, you need eat cat food
if you fuck up Giftmas today. No response.
He may be better than me at not-sausage too.

[Caught Myself Writing]

Caught myself writing
clear and concise and schtickless
sentences about work

as a creative
exercise, not, I tell me,
for publication.

Nothing demands pens'
tablets', counting to sevens'
return than writing

voluntarily
and for recreational
purposes re: work.

Clear, concise, schtickless
sentences, I am paid for
clear, concise, schtickless

sentences. I think
I can write better poetry
(excuse me the eight)

transliterating
workese into stanzas? Boss
talk into static?

Maybe. Tale to snail.
Rhyme cannot be far behind,
may never get here.

The Candidate for AUL for RICD

The candidate
for Associate
University
Librarian
for Research,
Instruction, &
Collection
Development,
has such a pig nose,
dramatic
autistic
twitches,
no one listens to
her
insightfully
concise
presentation
on consortia,
the sticky minuses
but ultimate pluses,
their
long-term
positive
budgetary
impacts.
The woman
on my right
sneaks glances
at my tablet
as I write this poem.
She's
wondering
if I'm writing:
the candidate
has a pig nose
& dramatic
autistic
twitches
because the candidate does, look.
The woman on my right
stares
at the candidate's
pig nose
& dramatic
autistic
twitches,
cocks her eyebrow
at the tablet
and smiles at me.
She will advocate
against this
candidate,
making claims
the presentation
she didn't hear
was absolutely
inadequate.

Started November 1, 2014 Through November 4, 2014, an Unabandoned Poem (Though I'll Not Date the Entries)

My tongue never runs out of ink.
My ideas have run out of tablet.

I knock on doors
knowing no one's home
I walk by houses
with porch lights on.