Add poems from the past year

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+---
+title: 100 lines
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Whenever you call me friend \
+I fall down on my knees and cry \
+because I know it's the only thing \
+never to happen before in this \
+life is something you can't see \
+it's a pillow under a hook shot \
+I want to tell you something anything \
+but you are there and I am here \
+we are trapped inside ourselves \
+and the distance is too far \
+you are something that I would tell \
+would be nothing before too long \
+you are not the finisher of dreams \
+you are the beginning of nightmares \
+or waking but I'm not sure which \
+this letter is for you in the future \
+it will lead you on the path \
+of goodness or of rightness or of \
+wrong people and right meanings \
+or the meaning will be hidden \
+or wrestling the demon I will have become \
+restless under the starlight \
+it's too bright here to think \
+the negatives would be pitch black \
+darkness of a silver mine \
+there are no trees here  \
+where have you been where are you now \
+I am no longer here or there \
+you are anywhere or are you \
+up in the clouds is a ghost \
+he is white and blue like a cloud \
+he paints with his teeth \
+he paints the rainbow before midnight \
+that you can see from your window \
+staring out under the sunlight \
+through the gauze curtains \
+over the high mountain far away \
+that is covered over with snow \
+past the rivers and forests \
+that lie awake under Orion \
+hunting the bull that runs forever \
+just out of his reach \
+pointing the way for the two of us \
+to join together in song or dance \
+or that other thing and sing \
+the Grinch down off Mount Crumpet \
+his heart breaking his chest \
+thumping with the beat \
+his little dog too running running \
+with the bull full of laughter and blood \
+he can't see it anymore because it's become him \
+we are trapped he says we are  \
+trapped in ourselves it turns out \
+that all along it wasn't you or me \
+but he and her or her and him or  \
+he and he or she and she or they \
+even they tell us that nothing has happened \
+even they know that it's a big joke \
+one more thing to know before the death \
+we are crying like alligators \
+before their loved ones' coffins \
+we are bellowing with grief like buffalo \
+on a berth of wild oxen \
+we are wailing our clothes are in rags \
+we want we want we want \
+but never can we get \
+what is it \
+we don't know what it is \
+but it's something it's anything \
+it's too many people or not enough \
+it's too few trees we need more \
+beavers to build riverdams we need \
+grapes too or plums from the ice box \
+or an ice box even would be nice \
+all I have is this cube isn't that right \
+or is a sphere a cube a donut a coffee \
+cup your hands in mine yes that's right \
+now bring the water to your face \
+clear and cool and \
+full of something \
+what is it wanting \
+or yearning \
+I can see in your eyes they're clear now \
+they are as clear as a running stream \
+or the sky that's clear right \
+or the water that is in the Bahamas \
+because I hear that's clear \
+you're as clear as the sound of a bell \
+you're as clear as the braying of horses \
+you're as clear as the glass in God's eye \
+and I \
+I'm as dull as an ox plowing  \
+through fields in his yoke \
+I'm as dull as clouded amber \
+I'm dull as you find me \
+tonight after dinner \
+I'm reading the crossword \
+you're sitting beside me \
+you're watching TV.
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+---
+title: Call me
+subtitle: aural pleasure
+genre: verse
+
+epigraph:
+    content: |
+        compiled thru Facebook statuses of the author
+    link: 'https://www.facebook.com/kittensruleforever38'
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Like _40_ as I challenge anyone to come too! \
+It's like you're the epitome of lame! \
+She's all _I am SOOOO CONFUSED_ \
+Aw yeah she got word from yarn. \
+---but technically it's a pretty sweet, huh?
+
+Dude we were going and delicate fragrance of arguments get based off of are not try \
+dropping glasses in such an emotional rollercoaster you \
+and yes, I'm cocky enough to do anything! \
+I am as good as Phineas and make another picture symphony \
+This is a modification of a young woman to try \
+groups disband after they get your Meacham stuff please let it \
+RJ Covino, own statuses that'll be a great
+
+MY OWN afterbirth than do that \
+I am 2 we can be KISSED ON THE page. \
+You know I'm not sure that \
+Ben & Jerry's FTW \
+4/10 would not be able to vote, because I gotta do it \
+This is going to be sad about what \
+Rush Limbaugh comes forward with sunglassesbut at least I wasn't wearing a messenger bag or skinny jeans! \
+The cooler THAN Facebook \
+Wine is the best. \
+
+YES I was surprised at first, but the train one, definitely. \
+
+Also Valhalla is a dumbass... \
+But we can get based off of course, Jon. \
+We watched this \
+CELEBRATE FRANKSGIVING TOO! \
+That didn't get started on that \
+FRANCIS OF VERULAM REASONED THUS WITH the courage to reply. \
+Anyone wanna watch out \
+I am cranky from Bro a good as a way to hijack my hand. \
+Afterbend was not to produce photographs.
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+---
+title: Cold wind
+genre: verse
+
+dedication: Justin
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Man of autumn, cold wind, \
+blow down the trees' leaves.  \
+Fire on the ground.  The sky \
+perfect water, frost-cold, \
+rippled only by flocks \
+of black birds flying, gone.  \
+Their brightness can blind \
+an uncareful watcher, work him \
+in a froth of hands, not-wings \
+that ache with the loss of flight.  \
+A tear is flung faithfully \
+to the ocean of air, slipping in \
+slowly, is as gone as the birds.
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+---
+title: Creation myth
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+So two hyperintelligent pandimensional beings \
+walk into a bar.  One turns to the other and says, \
+"Did you remember to check the end state \
+of that simulation we were running?"  The other \
+says, "No, I thought that you did?"  To which \
+the first replies, "Oh shit, we missed it.  \
+I suppose we must do all of this again.  Barkeep,
+
+two beers please."  The bartender nods in that way \
+that bartenders do, pours the two beers, \
+expertly, by the way, just so, and hands them \
+to the first hyperintelligent pandimensional being.  \
+The second one pulls a few singles out of his \
+wallet, places them on the bar, and the pair \
+turn around and begin walking toward a table \
+in the middle of the mostly-empty bar.  The bar- \
+tender picks up the money, fans it out, frowns, \
+and calls to his patrons' backs: "Hey, this \
+isn't enough!"  The two turn around simultan- \
+eously, with parity, and stare at him.  A beat.
+
+One of them, the one without the beer, breaks \
+the silence by exclaiming, "Oh dear god, I'm \
+sorry!  I didn't know your prices went up since \
+last time.  What do I owe you?"  The bartender \
+says, "Oh, just another dollar-fifty."  The being \
+reaches in his back pocket, slides out his \
+wallet, looks in smiling, and frowns when he sees \
+it's empty.  He looks to the other and says, \
+"You got a buck-fifty I can borrow?"
+
+The second hyperintelligent pandimensional being \
+considers this.  He sets the beers down \
+on the table, pulls out his own wallet, opens \
+it, and frowns.  "I'm broke too," he says.
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+---
+title: Ex machina
+genre: verse
+
+epigraph:
+    content: with lines from National Geographic
+    link: 'http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2013/08/sugar/cohen-text'
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Bottom of the drink: they had \
+to go.  The Coke machine, the snack \
+machine, the deep fryer.  Hoisted
+
+and dragged through the halls \
+and out to the curb, they sat with \
+other trash beneath gray, forlorn
+
+skies behind the elementary \
+school, wondering what their next \
+move would be.  The Coke machine
+
+had always wanted to live \
+the life of a hobo, jumping trains, \
+eating from garbage, making fire
+
+in old oil drums.  It had some \
+strange romantic notions of being homeless, \
+is what the deep fryer thought.
+
+Its opinion was to head to court, \
+sue the bastards at the school for early \
+termination of contract.  It was
+
+the embodiment of justifiable anger. \
+It believed privately that it was an incarnation \
+of Nemesis, the goddess of divine
+
+retribution.  What the snack machine \
+thought, it kept to itself, but it did say \
+that nothing ever ends.  The others
+
+were confused, then angry, but finally \
+understood, or thought they did.  The snack \
+machine's candy melted in the sun.
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+---
+title: Finding the Lion
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Tonight, as I look up, the stars \
+hide themselves in shame.  There is no moon.  \
+The sky is black, like my desk,
+
+nothing like a raven.  The streetlights \
+look on the scene disinterested.  \
+They have their own small gossips of the dark.
+
+I came here to find the Lion, old \
+friend, but he will not show his flanks, his \
+paws, his shoulders, his mane.  I
+
+can hear him laughing from his hiding-place \
+behind the moon, nonexistent, under \
+the cold dead earth.  The mountain is in front
+
+of me now, a hole of stars daring me \
+to pierce it with my sight.  The lion's still \
+laughing; the streetlamps talk about
+
+me amongst themselves, and go out.  There \
+never was any lion, they tell me.  \
+You only hear the wind on the mountain.
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+---
+title: Look
+subtitle: a found typewriter poem
+genre: verse
+
+epigraph:
+    content: |
+        Is he older?  I asked her.
+        And I never got an answer, because at the moment she disappeared in a puff of smoke.
+        I like to think nothing ever happened to her save that she went over to the spirit realm.
+        I usually know better though.
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+
+Look, I say---look here--- \
+at this old place \
+where nothing changes.  \
+Look at the people \
+who pass by.  Look at \
+the trees.  The flowers \
+full of wanting: look \
+how full they are with \
+color.  Look how they mock \
+us, empty people who \
+must fill themselves \
+with changes---emptiness.
+
+"There is nothing to be \
+but happy.  There is no \
+sadness to fall down \
+like cherry petals."
+
+The trees don't under \
+stand: they are too \
+tall to see the germ \
+of discontent in us.
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+---
+title: I wanted to tell you something
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+I wanted to tell you something in order to \
+explain the way I feel about the Universe, \
+its workings, etc.  But I couldn't yesterday \
+---I'm sorry---I wanted only to ball \
+myself up and cry all day.  It was the sixteenth \
+day in a row this happened to me, and to be
+
+more than two weeks waiting to cry is, \
+especially when, the whole time, I wasn't able to, \
+absolutely horrible.  It was no sweet sixteen, \
+I'll tell you that much.  Unless at yours, the Universe \
+kept telling you to quit having such a ball \
+and that you should have died, like, yesterday.
+
+At first, it feels like you're winning--that yesterday \
+you really were meant to die, but since you still _are_, \
+you beat the system somehow.  But the Universe bawls, \
+"No, I meant you should've crawled into \
+a hole and fucking _died_!"  And then the Universe \
+punches you right in the gut, something like sixteen
+
+times, and all you can think is, "Some sixteenth \
+birthday!  Maybe I will go die in a hole."  Yesterday, \
+at times like this, is a luxury the cruel Universe \
+refuses to give you.  This is when it's a pain just to _be_, \
+when that Marvell line about "rolling our stuff into one ball" \
+just seems glib, when you don't want one body, let alone two.
+
+Something else that may come as a surprise to \
+you: over the past more-than-a-fortnight, these sixteen \
+days, I've had nothing to eat but crackers and a cheese ball.  \
+(That's not entirely true---yesterday \
+I had some candy, peppermints and Jujubes.) \
+Maybe this is why I'm so mad at the Universe---
+
+because all it has ever wanted, this Universe \
+that gave me life, fed me from its breast til I was two, \
+and even before that, made a place in which I could be--- \
+all it's wanted was for me to take the sixteen \
+steps to sobriety, fold the Eight-Fold Path over yesterday \
+and step around it lightly, as I would an exercise ball,
+
+but the problem is, dear Universe, there's no way I could be \
+something as hard as all that, to wake up yesterday \
+morning, stretch over my sixteen selves, bound out like a ball.
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+---
+title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+[Ideas are drool.][] 
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+---
+title: January
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+January. \
+It's cold, and I don't like it. \
+I prefer warm weather, \
+although I like sweaters. They are the one \
+warm spot in an otherwise shitty season. \
+But fall is better sweater weather. So be patient,
+
+Patient, \
+while waiting for the end of January. \
+A change of season \
+brings a change of mood along with it, \
+although I never thought I'd be one \
+to believe that SAD junk about effects of weather---
+
+weather!--- \
+on a person. Who becomes a patient \
+just because of one \
+month of snow? I did say of January: \
+"It's cold, and I don't like it," \
+but I hardly think it's fair, knocking whole seasons,
+
+seasoning \
+your conversation with demands for better weather. \
+(While I find it \
+nearly impossible, it's my mission to be patient \
+while waiting for the end of January.) \
+Oh, but how the long nights do so tax one!
+
+One \
+warm spot in an otherwise shitty season--- \
+all I ask, January, \
+is one warm day. Do you care whether \
+I'm a person who becomes a patient \
+in some psych ward? This just about does it.
+
+I.T., \
+although I never thought I'd call one, \
+is fair and patient \
+when I call. They talk with me, season \
+my conversation of demands for better weather \
+with an argument for the white beauty of January.
+
+They know it's hard; they say each season \
+has its detractors. One day, they say, the weather \
+will be controlled - until then, patience in January.
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+---
+title: The largest asteroid in the asteroid belt
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+What secrets does it hold?  \
+Can it tell us who kissed Sara \
+that night on the veranda, or \
+who Joey is really in love with?  \
+We all know it isn't Sara, we \
+mean look at them Christmas eve \
+and he's staring whistfully \
+at the stars, or the largest \
+asteroid in the asteroid belt.  \
+She's staring at him, sure, but \
+she sees the twinkle in his eye \
+is not aimed in her direction.  \
+The reflection of that reflection \
+will beam into space, lightyears \
+of space, dimming slowly each \
+second, until it dies out like \
+all of Sara's hopes for something \
+resembling love in this life, real \
+love that takes hold of her by \
+the throat and refuses to let go, \
+love that makes men travel for her \
+and only for her, love that launches \
+space ships to that asteroid, the \
+largest in the asteroid belt, that \
+jewel of dead rock and ice, harboring \
+something that could've been life \
+and nothing that actually is.
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+---
+title: Last passenger
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Memory works strangely, spooling its thread \
+over the nails of events barely related, \
+creating finally some picture, if we’re \
+lucky, of a life---but more likely, it knots \
+itself, catches on a nail or in our throats \
+that gasp, as it binds our necks, for air.
+
+An example: today marks one hundred years \
+since your namesake, the last living passenger \
+pigeon, died in Cincinnati.  It also marks \
+one year since we last spoke.  Although around \
+the world, zoos mourn her loss, I'm done \
+with you.  I mourn no more your voice, the first \
+sound I heard outside my body that reached \
+into my throat and set me ringing.  But that string---
+
+memory that feels sometimes more like a tide \
+has yoked together, bound your voice to that bird, \
+the frozen, stuffed, forgotten pigeon---my heart \
+is too easy, but it must do---to blink, to flex \
+its unused toes, slowly thaw to the wetness \
+of beating wings, fly to me again, and alight, \
+singing full-throated, on my broken shoulder.
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+---
+title: Listen
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+If you swallow hard enough \
+you'll feel the stone \
+the one we all have waiting
+
+Once I found the stone in \
+the sea it kissed me as \
+the sea pawed at my back
@@ -0,0 +1,60 @@
+---
+title: No nothing
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+| While swimming in the river
+| I saw underneath it a river
+| of stars. Only there was no
+| river: it was noon. You can
+| say the sun is a river; you
+| can argue the stars back it
+| like shirts behind a closet
+| door; you can say the earth
+| holds us up with its weight
+| or that it means well or it
+| means anything.
+|                 There is no
+| closet, nor door; there are
+| no shirts hanging anywhere.
+| There is no false wall that
+| leads deep into the earth's
+| bowels, growing warmer with
+| each step. Warmth as a con-
+| cept has ceased to make any
+| sense. In contraposition to
+| cold, it might, but cold as
+| well stepped out last night
+| and hasn't returned.
+|                      Last I
+| heard, it went out swimming
+| and might've drowned. Trees
+| were the pallbearers at the
+| funeral, the train was long
+| and wailful, there was much
+| wailing and gnashing of all
+| teeth--though there were no
+| teeth, no train, no funeral
+| or prayer or trees at all--
+| nor a river underneath any-
+| thing. There was nothing to
+| be underneath anymore.
+|                        Look
+| around, and tell me you see
+| something. Look around, and
+| tell me something that I do
+| not know. I know, more than
+| anything, that the world is
+| always ending. Behind that,
+| there is nothing, save that
+| there is no nothing either.
+|
+| Nothing somehow still turns
+| and flows past us, past all
+| time and beyond it, a river
+| returning, to its forgotten
+| origins deep within itself.
@@ -0,0 +1,24 @@
+---
+title: Nothing is ever over
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Nothing is ever over; nothing \
+is ever even begun.  The foundation \
+hasn't been laid; how can we hope \
+to put in the plumbing?  The bed \
+is unmade, not even made; the wood \
+hasn't been cleft from the tree; \
+the seed hasn't been cast \
+out of water and growth and sun, \
+which itself hasn't started shining.  \
+The cock has never stopped crowing \
+because he never started.  Peter \
+betrays us again and again with \
+silence.  Christ wakes up at night, \
+choking from a bad dream, wrists \
+aching from a dreamt, torturous pain.
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+---
+title: Litany for plants
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+I need a plant.  I need a thing \
+to take care of.  I need \
+a little green brownspotted \
+blackdirt growing \
+quietness.  I need a sunlit \
+dawn knowing my name filtered \
+through a thin green window. \
+I need chlorophyll \
+working its magic on beams of \
+grassmade early morning dewdrop \
+sweetmaking green.  I need \
+the dark earth sucking water \
+from a black crevice \
+its black magic churning \
+wormilled rockturned starblind \
+darkness and cold into \
+the opposite of dust.  I need the heat \
+to blind me.  I need the dumb making \
+to charge my coldened blood.  I need \
+the dropturned leaves to turn again \
+their faces to the windblown sun. \
+I need millions of tiny years \
+summed up and burning out some unknown \
+new growth into the air.  I need four \
+hundred feet of dark red gnarled wood \
+and needles glistening wetly on goldheaded \
+branches hoisting themselves \
+to the sky.  I need ten strong men \
+to fail to bring you down.  Old one \
+I need the peace that comes with knowing \
+something sacred holds still \
+in the world.  I need your green tongues \
+of flame to lick at old wounds \
+stitching us together away from ourselves. \
+I need your brownbranching grasp \
+to keep me from drifting off \
+into unknowing terrible sleep.  I need \
+to know the snake hanging \
+from your branches.  I need to watch \
+the dropping of flesh massful \
+onto the ground from a height.  I need \
+the gnawer at your root to strike \
+a vein to quicken old brown stone \
+to movement.  I need jeweleyed venom \
+barking new greennesses into the bark. \
+I need a knocker of dark secrets hidden \
+in the dark bark hiding a smallstone \
+smoldering pearl in the knot.  I need \
+that pearl held out in a hand like an offering. \
+I need the hand to be a plant's hand.
+
+I need a plant.  I need a growing \
+growler groaning toward heat and air. \
+I need a green thin stem surprisingly strong \
+holding up the weight of a plain \
+of fallow greennesses of creases and caresses \
+of tiny worldmaking hardworking grandeur. \
+I need a singer of life crying \
+forward into old roads covered over \
+by dead trees.  I need the rasping of root \
+in dirt.  I need the unfurling of fiddleheads \
+to sing forth a new symphony.  I need \
+fruits swelling large for the harvest. \
+I need yellow light shining through white bark. \
+I need juicecrush flowing waterlike \
+through valleys percolating up \
+through the ground.  I need springs bubbling sap \
+into cabins of wood fought for by labor. \
+I need snow on the ground with shoots \
+dotting the melting patches.  I need two \
+leaves on a thin stalk shivering \
+in moonlight.  I need robinsong warbling \
+over the heads of small seeds sprouting \
+to enliven their growth.  I need rings \
+of woody material widening to push \
+the ground out of their way.  I need \
+new greennesses pushing out from \
+the brown dark bark gnarled.  I \
+need the robin to build its songfilled \
+nest in a branchcrotch.  I need \
+the fecundity of fungi on the branches. \
+I need quiet of the sunlight shooting \
+through thousands of branched leaves \
+quivering.  I need whisper at dawn. \
+I need burrows underground foxholes. \
+I need duff layers eaten through \
+by worms.  I need brooks murmuring \
+through crooks of roots.  I need small \
+fish swimming in their schools at \
+midnight.  I need oldnesses giving way \
+to youngnesses giving way to oldnesses. \
+I need dapplegray yellowshot ashbark. \
+I need the crunch of dead leaves underfoot. \
+I need snowquiet deadbranch mourning. \
+I need those purple mountains majesty. \
+I need a walk between trees in the dark. \
+I need that moment when stopping to rest \
+it suddenly seems that all the weary \
+forestroads in all their meandering come \
+to rest their heads at my astonished \
+feet, none of them needing more than me.
@@ -0,0 +1,29 @@
+---
+title: Seasonal affective disorder
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+On your desk I set a tangerine:  \
+a relic of a winter quickly passing.
+
+I'm reminded, fiercely, of a summer:  \
+I watched the cemetery grass on my stomach.
+
+You hate the wind blowing through buildings:  \
+the coldness of fire, blister of a mountain stream.
+
+When you broke down that night: your aunt / you  \
+never have been / you shook that night /
+
+Seasonal affective disorder is real: you  \
+mutter under your breath on the highway.
+
+The ant carries an orange peel past a headstone:  \
+it carries her nearly as often.
+
+I set a tangerine on your desk:  \
+an engagement ring, winter-returned.
@@ -0,0 +1,30 @@
+---
+title: Sense of it
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+I only write poems on the bus anymore.  \
+I sit far in the back to be alone.  \
+I mark black things on white things in a black thing.  \
+I try to make sense of it.
+
+Every time I see a plastic bag in the wind I think: \
+This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  \
+Most of my life I relate to something on the TV: \
+This is how I try to make sense of it.
+
+The Talking Heads song ["Stop Making Sense"][stop] \
+is about a girlfriend caught cheating and willed oblivion.  \
+The song's real title is "Girlfriend is Better" \
+but lying about it is a way I try to make sense of it.
+
+The day after I lost her I found you again.  \
+Your face made a plastic bag of my heart.  \
+Your eyes were the wind pushing the bus forward.  \
+I couldn't make sense of it.
+
+[stop]: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r7X3f2gFz4
@@ -0,0 +1,26 @@
+---
+title: Let's start with something simple
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+in mammals the ratio between bladder size \
+and urethra is such that it takes \
+all of them the same time to piss.  Take \
+for example the fact that Fibonnacci \
+numbers show up everywhere.  How can you \
+look at this at all of this all of \
+these facts and tell me to my face there \
+is no God?  And yet there isn't \
+you murmer quietly into my ear over \
+and over like a low tide sounding \
+its lonely waves on an abandoned beach.  \
+The ocean that birthed us holds us \
+still.  We are tied, you and I, together \
+in her arms.  The [moon, caring father,][moon] \
+looks down from a dispassionate sky.
+
+[moon]: moon-drowning.html
@@ -0,0 +1,21 @@
+---
+title: Stayed on the bus too long
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+It was a gamble \
+I lost---thought I could get closer \
+than the library, stayed \
+on past the admin building, \
+back down the hill to my beginning, \
+the driver's second-to-last stop. \
+I have to walk now, \
+through the wind and sun, past \
+traffic moving merrily along \
+taking their own gambles \
+staying on or getting off \
+too soon.
@@ -0,0 +1,34 @@
+---
+title: The night we met, I was out of my mind
+subtitle: or Lying in the dark
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+My head is full of fire, my tongue swollen, \
+pregnant with all the things I should've said \
+but didn't.  Last night, we met each other \
+in the dark, remember?  You told me time was
+
+pregnant with all things.  I should've said \
+something, to draw you out from your place \
+in the dark.  Remember, you told me time was \
+only an illusion, and memory was only
+
+something to draw.  You, out from your place, \
+I out from mine, that night, I believed in you.  \
+Only illusion and memory were one, lying \
+down on your couch, through the night you drew
+
+me out from mine.  That night, I believed in you \
+when you told me you loved me.  I lay \
+down on your couch.  Through the night, you drew \
+a picture of our future together.
+
+When you told me you loved me, I lied \
+in the dark.  Remember, you told me time was \
+a picture of our future together.  \
+My head is full of fire, my tongue swollen.
@@ -0,0 +1,35 @@
+---
+title: The sea and the beach
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Waiting for a reading to start \
+when there's nobody coming anyway \
+is like waiting for the tide \
+to make some meaning of the beach.
+
+The sea doesn't know or care \
+what the beach even is, let alone \
+its cares or its troubles, its \
+little nagging under-the-skin annoyances \
+that make the beach the beach.
+
+Sandworms, for example, or those crabs \
+with big pincers on one side \
+but not the other.  Those really get \
+the beach's gander up, but the sea \
+doesn't care.  The sea
+
+only wants to caress the beach \
+with its soft arms, to tell the beach \
+how much it's loved by the sea, \
+that complex of water, salt, and \
+the moon's gravity, the mercury \
+rising up and down slowly, like a yawn.
+
+The sea only cares about itself.  \
+The beach lays there and takes it.
@@ -0,0 +1,33 @@
+---
+title: Time looks up to the sky
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+I wish I'd kissed you when I had the chance.  \
+Your face hovering there, so near to mine, \
+your mouth pursed---what word was it you pronounced?
+
+When I think about you, something in my pants \
+tightens, and my thoughts run, and I realize \
+I should've kissed you when I had the chance.
+
+I want that moment never to be past \
+like Keats's lovers on the grecian urn: \
+his mouth pursed, her figure turned to pronounce
+
+her hips in ways that are not feminist.  \
+But time strolls mildly on, not glancing at my \
+wish to kiss you when I had the chance,
+
+whispered like a beggar to a prince \
+outside his palace: time looks up to the sky, \
+purses his lips, and hears what I pronounce
+
+but pays it little mind.  If he would just \
+turn back, bend down, and follow my design, \
+I would have kissed you when I had the chance, \
+as your mouth pursed and you pronounced goodbye.
@@ -0,0 +1,29 @@
+---
+title: When I'm sorry I wash dishes
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Autocento of the breakfast table
+    css: autocento
+...
+
+Your casserole dish takes the longest: \
+it has some baked-in crust from when you \
+cooked chicken last night.  Washing it \
+allows me to think about this poem's title \
+and the first few lines.  Now that I've \
+written them down, I've forgotten the rest.
+
+While sraping at something with my finger- \
+nail, I catch myself wondering again whether \
+you'll thank me for washing your dishes.  \
+I realize that this would defeat the point \
+of my gesture, that this has destroyed \
+all good thoughts I've had about saying
+
+"I'm sorry."  This, this is the reason why \
+I am always apologizing: because I never \
+mean it, because there is always, in some \
+attic, a thought roaming that says, insists: \
+"I've done nothing wrong, and I deserve \
+all I can take, and more than that."