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Likestarlings is a place for talking in poems. We pair poets with poets and they write a sequence of six new works by responding in turn to one another. Our palaver blog goes beyond poetry to discuss collaboration in theory and in practice. Please take a look, and feel free to add comments, opinions and suggestions here. Read poems here
 

Anthropogenic Poem

30th Their brightness seemed a concentration of the moon. A calling of no letters I wrote. The neck unbuttoned, a light upon the chest hair, the warm kiss behaved badly and resolved things into a quest of chatter called What Can I Do to Mean to You, Grama, Brome, Ceoanthus? I’m looking for ideas to stand around like things do—next to you, in this time of theirs? A little dog with a dry nose can put it in all sorts of places. Uneven trouble I wish, uneven trinkets for eyes. Moon hit my neck, had less distance to fall. I was hovering over the canyon melody, over the poverty weed, verbena and sedge never to be eaten by my associations. Was calming down but outstretched. Guess of folly, dirt of luck, theirs my own time, avoiding time – they're time? I hugged myself, still hovering, thinking of plants, it was raining – I looked at the rain as if I was a camera in the throat of a wild turkey. Now lagomorphic, hollowed out, I scrambled through the net of a soccer goal. Wait, no, I’m a person, I’m a person, actually, though I came here to the place a poem holds when the mind goes, in order to be a professional furball. One stands in a world! The trembling remonstrance or remembrance, the world is utterly in the way its clothes hang. Things of the compost appear suddenly, there’s a system for it, though is it more than just saying, “oh, it happens.” The carrot seedlings wink in the breeze, the alkali mallow grows and withers, and hovering over the rock, a flower-gathering animal talks a little pink knot.