A Complete Love of Damage
(A line from “Signs and More” by Noelle Kocot, 2016)
In contrast to Aristotle’s way of explaining nature,
Galileo relied on experiment—
kiss the ground of ghost towns,
resurrect character through steaming scullcap tea,
red flaring & piano-teethed nightscapes
are restorative for you,
your friends,
& the world in which lifestyles obliquely breed.
Ivy-bound venues are secondary addresses
& testosterone is high-kicked while the amplifiers gloss over
with blood, sweat, & PBR brown-bottled condensation
to alleviate
the broken interwoven,
Out-of-Daylight meetings take place, outlining no moral superiorities,
where the walls have fluorescent ladybugs & boots perched against them
while cigarette smoke lifts like airborne tinsel
to alleviate
the broken interwoven,
because we all live to become reborn
into some form of the Otherside.
Yes—we are knocking on the opportunities
to be thorough, to be constructive,
to be quarrying animalistic
& eye-leveled cumulonimbus.
The Lobby, LaSalle Avenue
I walk laps around the lobby
while I wait on my prescriptions.
My direction shifts when I approach
“Cardiology” or “Allergy”.
One room is cappuccino-breathed small talk
with tissues in hand.
The other room is the anticipation
of morbidity,
with tissues in hand.
I make paces between the two,
then watch the common bream
make their laps with gilled serenity—
I want to breathe in
what doesn’t drown me.
If I could,
I would lap in the fountains
of coins to collect,
spend them on grapefruit Bai,
and wait where the Lunatone spawns.
I would lap in the simplicities
caught in solitary revitalizing.
Halves
I am harboring infamous stains
of backfire,
writing them writing you as holy-kindled colorations,
as anthologies muscled by the collector
of shrapnel left by betrayal.
Outbursted vices induced by attention swelling
for more,
and why do we love harder under our own veil
of invisibility?
They say you’re doing fine because you
dream warmed over & I can only appear
like a coal-bursted perennial.
My body cracked.
Your melatonin kicks in
like zoologically cheetah,
like defeat trimming
my daydreams.
Brooke Nicole Plummer jokingly applied for a clown college in Ohio, got accepted, then never heard from the staff again. She prefers solitude with Clara Schumann playing in the background over the cacophony of Pokémon GO community events, just as she prefers butterscotch coffee over ironing clothes for other events categorized as formalities. Her work has been published by Wordplay Anthology, Ursus Americanus, Twykenham Notes, (b)OINK, and others. She is currently working on her first chapbook, Flyover, Compiled Nothings.
