Spontaneous Computer-Lab/Cafeteria Poetry

Today I found myself in the awkward position of not having written any poetry for a week….
Since I figure that posting an earlier poem would defeat the purpose of “Last Week’s Poetry,” I’ve decided that I will go for spontaneity today. So if this sounds nothing at all like what you expect from me, please excuse it. I’ll be back with more refined content next week.

Stream-of-Consciousness as a Poem

Air whisks its way
past the skin-on-my-ears
It hums with filters and
the clack of keyboard/fingers/hitting
bounces through the air

Dishes distantly decide their
dismay in being served
like scum – some scum? –
They think they’re made
for better things
than cafeteria days

Voices, they exist
like little nails on/tries on/words on
And we all speak in
the English that defines
where we come in, come from

These things perceived
– I dream big things and
wait for loud-sounds-hey-shouts
in the distance
And the tables rearrange
themselves in groups

Last litters at the end
I’m back to air
and pipes that whistle with
the little skin they find
Between their fingers/voices/hands

M.
Nov 3/11

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