Author: Jeff Popovich

2020 July 11

Jesus fuck jeff scrivener
fixed your woes before?
Glad that typed out rem
Ember my scrivener com
Plaint the auto-capitalism pro-
Blem even when I hyph-
Enate. Acrostic I day
Dream forbidden gim
Micks by tyrant (don’t
I’m not) I do count knu
Ckles though religiou
Sly I cheat, editing
In days evaporating
Faster than alcohol
Wipes, I can’t decode
What I inked into type
Ruin both, so scrive
Ner, my new tablet!
For the sixth time.

2020 July 3

  • Snyder certainly warned this kaboom inevitable, offered a less disgraceful off-ramp
  • He made them do it
  • I’ve lived here my remembered life
  • I was a fan, avid
  • Landru and I watched games together most Sunday afternoons for years, the 70s, maybe a third of the 80s
  • There was no apostasy (there was a trial separation), I started hiking Sundays with Earthgirl
  • Helmetball hate in general, hating Snyder in particular, credit Snyder*  
  • the half-assed psychopath desperate to join Team Sociopath
  • (*also too late-capitalism)
  • Please keep burgundy and gold

2020 June 12, 14

Four times out of five

my damn needs bleeding I’m dark

Light, I think, one fifth

Light I’m not dark yes

Light I still light in forest

chords still chime, rhymes rhyme

Not dark most. Today

Nozzle One nozzled Nozzle

Two for prime fuck you

Nozzle Two wilco

(Sun Volt is better). Uncle,

to pun low light. Light

beats dark. I miss dark

My new vegetarian

hiking boots orange

(rhymes with door hinge) an

kles OK I wore orange shoes

can’t wait dark restock

me restock me. Some

mere I fear most, pathogens

neighbors, my cat’s shit

could have chemically

reprogrammed my daughter’s soul

turned her bookkeeper

2020 April 12

Lamy’s black ink in a Lamy
fountain pen on white paper
darker than Lamy black ink
on Lighthouse’s beige bleeds
much more on Moleskine rag
scritchs more on white paper

Once I would have grunted a sestina
here. My list of apocalyptic words
BAYnull to bahNAIL exhaustive
I am sixty and new to history
happening, mine, one in nine
mes dies when poxed, my daughter

twenty-seven experiencing history
dependent on dice roll, me? Normally
I write poems in pencil to erase
for palimpsests effect, editing
never a factor. That box from work
I’m burying tomorrow, this poem goes there too