I discover the "quick message" file on my cell phone and think it might make a good story if I rearrange the entries. What it makes is not "good" so much as funny. And every sequence leads to the same spot--I think--a leap into bed. Really? Sexting, it turns out, is inevitable. So too is sorrow. Where there is a telephone, someone is waiting. And nearly wordless.
Exchange I (Recycle.)
Where u at?
B there soon.
Tipsy?
I'm gonna B late.
What's up?
Booty call.
U know u want me.
RU up 4 it?
Your place or mine?
Let's do it!
Exchange II (Repeat.)
Do it! You up?
Your place? Yours. Gonna be late.
Where are you? Boy call.
Again? B there soon.
Exchange III (Restraint.)
Soon be there
Want up
Call do
You too
Late
Photos are of a plastic drop cloth hung out to dry. September, 2011, Halifax.Recycled plastic; reusable words.
What if we thought of poetry as something visible everywhere? Much of what we call poetry IS blogging, a lyric voice meandering through the sounds and images and movements of the world, trying on sensations and seeking interlocutors. Visible Poetry: Aesthetic Acts in Progress aims at expanding some horizons of this oldest of forms.
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