ditch class and do a writing exercise.

After staying up until 6am writing about Shakespeare's use of the second person pronoun and irregular blank verse....I really couldn't bear to sit through that class today. Instead my friend Jon and I sat under a big tree in the grass quad and wrote team poetry. One line from me, one from him. Usually these turn out pretty poorly, but I actually kind of like these, as unpolished as they are.

Together

tiny green spades and sporadic spears

its better out here

the milk white walls

cloud what is outside

their lactose drips down my throat

and chokes any chance of explaining

I pluck a spade, its root is milk white

warm when the wind stops, better in movement

instinctively I turn leaves to floral curtains

easier to simply be

still, but I sew the earth's hair

my hands feel the evidence

the veins, the DNA, the sinews

life right in front of me, all around

My ear is on the fleshy dirt, I hear beating

Once intimidating, now telling me secrets

I let two sprigs twist seductively in my hand

busy and alive

grass taught me to listen, God's voice and distant birds,

No need to rush, but merely listen

I sink into the fabric roots

and find I too, am growing

Jon

its better out here

cloud what is outside

and chokes any chance of explaining

warm when the wind stops, better in movement

easier to simply be

my hands feel the evidence

life right in front of me, all around

Once intimidating, now telling me secrets

busy and alive

No need to rush, but merely listen

and find I too, am growing

Me

tiny green spades and sporadic spears

the milk white walls

their lactose drips down my throat

I pluck a spade, its root is milk white

instinctively I turn leaves to floral curtains

still, but I sew the earth's hair

the veins, the DNA, the sinews

My ear is on the fleshy dirt, I hear beating

I let two sprigs twist seductively in my hand

grass taught me to listen, God's voice and distant birds,

I sink into the fabric roots

------------------shorter exercise...not as fun--------------

Together

Bark, a thousand pieces

an apple, my apple, eroding in a bag

counting by numbers, making a picture

first the skin of your heel, then my shoelace

building it out of green and blue and twigs

a nest, and I had a sip of your sprite

spilled out, ready to be standing

but my sweater is already sprawled out in the grass

like a child

Jon

Bark, a thousand pieces

counting by numbers, making a picture

building it out of green and blue and twigs

spilled out, ready to be standing

Me

an apple, my apple, eroding in a bag

first the skin of your heel, then my shoelace

a nest, and I had a sip of your sprite

but my sweater is already sprawled out in the grass

like a child