Author: Jeff Popovich

2022 March 2


A vomit is an extreme burp
I once consoled Billy Wayne
busy extreme burping on my shoe

I need to start a new elephant
note page for March but was
afraid I’d forget this poem’s first

sentence formatting another
month in a platform I’d rather
paint bricks than use. No

abacuses were used in the how
old are you Jeff the gimmick
rictus of this poem. I’m growing

2023 February 6


Strongest proof of god
is that I can’t sing, second
proof I can’t draw shit

I not only can
nap now I need nap or I’m
feebler than new borns

I lose my balance
opening the dishwasher
Still love steep mountains

up but steep mountains
down now no, fucking hurts, knees
yes, eyes more, can’t see

where feet go, will I
kill myself deliberately
or “stumble” to my

death, a soccer team’s
shirt has joint you can bet my
death over/under

2023 January 27

For my sake I need mention I am using three different sized square watercolor blocks, 6×6, 8×8, and 12×12 which I cut to 11.25×11.25 because the scanner I use is 17×11.7. They all appear the same size here. I constantly look through here rather than rifling through the box of abandons when I want to remember a particular square or something new I was working on but got distracted and moved to next, I can remember what media I used and probably remember correctly what size the canvas, but just in case this one 11.25×11.25, the one below 8×8, laugh, starts now, this as far back as I’ll do research on this

2023 January 17

To stop myself thinking about it I bought an Arches 12 x 12 hot-press watercolor block which, if I’d thought about it instead of thinking I needed to buy it, is too big for the bed of the scanner I use so I can post the squares here and there and too big for the laminator I use so that the squares can be handled without fountain pen ink staining fingers, the above is the 12 x 12 cropped to 11 x 11, fine metajeffphors abound

2022 November 21

Finished my daily two-dimensional box, time to write
my daily two-dimensional poem
Width my dimension lacking, some would argue depth, I say, Death
to the Either/Or, my gag and epitaph.
I divorced the life of juicing stories and limited my experiential interactions unless
I lie, I’ve tried, I try, I can’t, am a ham liar
Worry stone daily, hollowing, not widening, the thumb niche

2022 November 18

I am the only Jeff I know.
I meet other Jeffs often
through work or Subaru
service managers who
insist their name is Jeffrey,
please don’t confuse me
with them, I’m not a James
who hates Jim or a Charles
who hates Charlie or a Robert
who hates Bob or a Margaret
who hates Peggy or a William
who hates Billy or a Stephen
Steve or Michael Mike
or David Dave or Edward Ted
or Eddie. Please call me Jeff.
I’m the only one I know.

2022 November 15

Should I write about my marriage at some point? Is this
tonight’s poem? It better be. I love her when I’m with her I
love me most when I’m alone. I’ve tried to make that not
true. She is not here with me now while I write this
poem and I will not show her the poem and I’ve never
asked her to read any of my poems. Tomorrow we hike
the Appalachian Trail through blooming mountain laurels