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The Impossible Machine
Persian lamps verily
based on a "write a bad poem" assignment
Through the mazy sidewalks
to the crust of a new-born moon
the spooky trail of raindrops
adrift in the gutter
shuddering neon
from a small sideways shop
Persian lamps verily

Quiet notions of sunrise
the speckled window
speaking of eggs unhatched
the malingering streams of photons
sharing in the transparent joy
of a light in kindred
Persian lamps verily

The stroke of soon asking
that I breathe on the window
of the breaths ungathered
whose particles will not
fondle the light
whose choose-y warmth speaks
Persian lamps verily

In the quietude, the malingering
light breaks on sofas
blocking the view
blocking the view
of lamps ensconced
in the beady light of lamps
Persian lamps verily

Turning to look
down the tunneling avenue
there are wrappers tossed
in a snare of inconsistant wind
the smell of garbage, inconveniently
covering the scrap advertising
Persian lamps verily

Quietly jumping to the one underpriced
having peased the garbage magazine
I stalk the street
maloitering over the prospect
of a pale blue light or yellow gloss
to show the fuzzy bleeding contents
Persian lamps verily

Noticing with a quiet thought
the lamp blooming in the window
I parsed the pages again
to find the lamp with its tassels
pictured at a different ratio
with the price on the fringe of my budget
Persian lamps verily
by Eucaleh Terrapin
Advent of the objectivist
poet? This poem is an
attempt to fail utterly.

Partly it is a "revenge"
on my poetry teacher for
giving the assignment
years ago to write such a
horrible poem on

At that point, however, I
thought failure was about
failing to
be a poem,
rather than failing to be

I knew intuitively that she
wanted me to fail
poetically yet write a
poem in spite of it, but
thought somehow it
would be clever, or a
sufficient rhetorical point
to dodge poetry entirely.

The first poem doesn't
bear repeating; it truly
was horrible. So much so
that there was no
humorous angle on it. It
even failed to relate a
consistent message.

This poem (if it could be
called that) owes much to
my experiment #1.