Consequences -- A collaborative chapbook

thetargetbird:

David W. Pritchard and I spent a year writing Consequences, one seemingly innocuous poem that birthed 99 responses. We proudly present them to you for your enjoyment.

As an addendum, I’ve also updated my Rejected Consequences chapbook, which chronicles 44 poems from this project that never fully matured.

For those who missed it, here’s the chapbook David and I spent a year writing, which contains stuff like:
And so, we’ve become a conundrum
of tissue in the absence of timely
bill paying — soon, our electricity
will be cut off and we shall
only gaze at each other through the bottom

of beer bottles — how green
you’ve looked, how far away
you’ve been, how convex
you are to me — I’d just like to close
the world one last time,
like an oyster drifting
through the desert.

(from “To Be Saved in Tin Foil”)

All that and more inside!

Consequences -- A collaborative chapbook

David W. Pritchard and I spent a year writing Consequences, one seemingly innocuous poem that birthed 99 responses. We proudly present them to you for your enjoyment.

As an addendum, I’ve also updated my Rejected Consequences chapbook, which chronicles 44 poems from this project that never fully matured.

Reject 44

If love wakes up with a stiff neck
wanting nothing but the stray scaffolding
left from erecting happiness as a pick-me-up,
then the echoes of its barbarianism that discarded
the shell leaves me stranded without thought
to whether the bus is running or not.

-C.S. Henderson

Reject 43

If love is in a pile of traces and ghosts and dead
logic in the basement, trying to walk out on us
like an echo (hence a figurative necessity for the logic
of a voice trying to avoid congealing into a proper
sound), we’ll have to constellate about each other
a bit more before we’re able to hear the humaness
in the other and finally be able to end things on a kiss.

-C.S. Henderson

Reject 42

If love discovers the parallel
of time was the vigilant exhaustion
of the heart lost in the ancient
marine layer, their friction then unwinds
the entropic magic of the strobbing
green vacant sky.

-C.S. Henderson