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would you still like me if i was an ancestral worm

Happy Thursday. I hope this email finds you either sleeping or otherwise at peace.

I am here to stir that shit up with some weird little first drafts/half-done poems.

The first is based on the GloPoWriMo prompt! Write a poem in which you take your title or some language/ideas from The Strangest Things in the World. Scroll on down (I actually recommend Crtl+F) to The Ferocious Centipede to find my inspiration. I forgot I wrote this until I opened my laptop to send this newsletter, but I’m sharing anyway solely for that killer title (courtesy Thomas R. Henry).

They have retained the ways of life of the ancestral worm
They are so ready for this week to be over, they are so ready to get home and eat some dung. They want nothing more than to wriggle out of the light and into soggy sweet soft. Watch “The Worm” or perhaps “Worm of Fortune” on their flat-leaf screens.

This next one’s a doozy, including where it came from, but I will try to explain myself. One of my favorite podcasts did an April Fools episode in which they had to guess which stories were actually from listeners and which one their producer wrote, two truths and a lie style. It got me thinking about attempting to write in someone else’s voice. It’s challenging to get out of your own head during and about poetry so I’d like to devote more time to this exercise one day, when no bedtime looms over me.

What can you come by reliably
if not dust on your own shelf
or sprouting garlic hidden
in a drawer

if not a puzzle in the
hospital waiting room
1,000 pieces at least /I am staying out of the way/

if not convincing
your brain to dis
agree with your
heart

if not the money
disappearing
unaccounted for /shhhhh/

if not telling
the lie and giving
so much away /not your time/

What can you come by
When can you come by
old reliable

Just remember, if you’re thinking, I don’t know what that poem meant — you’re not alone.

Talk tomorrow <3

Nora