NAPOWINO UPDATE & A SNEAK PREVIEW, hot off the fingertips, of this bastard-child-of-a-villanelle-and-terzarima that has driven me mad for hours and hours. It probably sucks, but the thing is finished, and I am at least happy with that fact. A line from an old scrap of a poem, reworked:



Pine


I gather your poems in case you are dead;
gone days, and your silence has grown too loud
for brooding, or whiskey. The chill of our bed

half-empty's unbearable. I am too proud
to imagine alternatives: love misbegotten
or gone. Days, and the silence grows too loud

to ignore, doubt swells, am I forgotten,
abandoned? To hell with it, my poor mind
must imagine alternatives, love, misbegotten

versions of you-- garotted in alleys, blind
or lost in the river. So doubt goes and you,
abandoned to hell, with it. My poor mind

bats at sleep like a cat with a moth. The moon
scowls through our window until it sinks,
lost in the river. So doubt goes. And you

couldn't guess how often I am at that brink
as I gather your poems, in case you are dead,
and scowl through our window until I sink
into brooding and whiskey, the chill of our bed.






Here's some other bunglings:


ostcount=74" Bitching Summer Out

ostcount=87"Antonyms

ostcount=103"Sevenlings Three


(the links look odd, courtesy of those f'n P smiley things :\ )




If you've got a NaPo thread/blog/whatever I don't know about do please leave me a link so I can follow along.


- Sal

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