Thicket

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Thicket

Organic One, in her hands:
umber twigs of alder and pine.
She is the hive-maker and he
the drone.

His birch-white shirt
fastened by spruce pitch,
and maple pith: a false bark
worn over bone.

Wanton Wolf, in her pursuit,
lust like vermillion sap, red bricks.
She is the hunted and he
the hound.

She in a green wicker gown,
as bushy as lavender brambles,
which gravity helps
to the ground.

Her weaver’s hands coax him,
turning canine fang into sweet gum.
Moonlight sets their heartbeat
speaking Cricket.

Foreign fruit drip juice,
spirit nectar sticky in her lap.
Phantom branches beckon them
into the thicket.

My Heart is Drenched in Brine

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I’d kim chi’d, krauted,

kombucha’d and carawayed

into the night

as I was carried away

by gregarious gut flora

that I had invented

and now, just like them

I too have fermented.



How to Disguise Yourself as a Project Manager

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How to Disguise Yourself as a Project Manager

Are you scrambling for a last minute Halloween get-up? Try stepping into something scary as a project manager!

 

Wear a Mask

A truly convincing project manager will always wear a mask. Clients can be downright spooky and you should always be prepared to face anything they might throw your way.

 

Trick or Treat

Relish the clients that are fun to work with and make them feel appreciated. As for the rotten tricksters, don’t try beating them at their own game. Instead, offer them such sweet work that they are stuck at home with a stomach ache. Offer them so much sweetness that they’re bound to overindulge.

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Be Flexible

Being as flexible as possible, even when it seems like things won’t bend that way, is crucial to this costume.

 

Be Prepared for Blood

Things will get messy when you’re in the thick of several projects. Some will get sliced and diced so much you can hardly recognize them.

 

Don’t Let Projects Haunt You

Keeping track of projects in one central place keeps them from falling off your radar until they sneak up on you from behind.

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Join the Mob

Any zombie would agree – you can always accomplish more as a group. When you get in over your head, make sure to reach out for a hand!

 

Rest in Peace

Everyone deserves a proper rest! Balancing projects can be taxing, so it’s important to refresh your mind with periods of uninterrupted rest and relaxation.

10748733_10154768516515367_584408033_nArt by Carrie Sloane.

 

Golden Boa

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Your catholic habit escapes
like black rabbits out the gate.

They ruffle the pale minty grasses.
Your gaze slithers up my calves.

It makes me shed like a yellow boa.
Skin as thin as paper falls below on sandy loam.

You sever my head on blood-tarnished terrain;
reduce me to golden remains.

An obsidian rabbit’s fate would be another,
for your discerning eyes fear form before color.

Vessels

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The ocean and the sky had faded.
We searched both with piercing eyes
for what churns in the tides,
what stirs within them, agitated:

The sunken ships and sorrow pale
of sailors who had cast their boats
into the very sea they sail
but vessels fill and fail to float.

Oulipost Interview #1

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Ouliposter

1. WHAT EXCITES YOU ABOUT OULIPOST?
This will be my my first time writing a poem each day and writing for NaPoWriMo. My mother used to participate in it when I was much younger and she always enjoyed her experience. I am excited for the challenge and for the heap of resulting poems.

2. WHAT, IF ANYTHING, SCARES YOU ABOUT OULIPOST?
I don’t believe there’s anything to fear. Is there something I’m not being told?

3. HAVE YOU WRITTEN EXPERIMENTAL OR FOUND POETRY BEFORE? IF SO, TELL US ABOUT IT.
I’ve taken a few courses in poetry and I have always tried to break free from the mold with my assignments. This April will be more experimental and more found than anything I’ve done before.

4. WHAT NEWSPAPER WILL SERVE AS YOUR SOURCE TEXT?
The Seattle Times.

5. WHO’S YOUR SPIRIT OULIPIAN?
If anyone can inspire me to create with found objects, it’s Marcel Duchamp.

Houseghost

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Dusting the rafters
of cedar timber
my ethereal fingers
meet no splinters.

Sappy amber sunlight
filters through flax curtains;
the remnant light they let in
bleaches me china-white.

My temporal body,
robust and sinewy,
ceded his opacity
to triumphant transparency.

I Sent the Sun Your Way

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How does one explain in a foreign tongue

how to bundle up for winter in Paris?

I’ll never know

the language of your daily,

the language of your longing,

the language of your love.

 

I’ll never know

the reason for the red streaks through my words,

written and spoken-

A romance language,

the vein that tethers our hearts together

 

A whisper of broken lexique,

a light kiss on the cheek,

sliding in between my seams,

warming me through the vitrines,

the language of your love.