Sorry it took so long

6/5/2024 "Who does that?" she asked (POST TOO LONG FOR E-MAIL - BEST READ VIA WEB OR APP)

We know we’re running late — when we sat down to compose this — we noticed the wireless keyboard was kaput

When we went downstairs to get 3 AAA batteries — we only needed 2 — we noticed the nub of Rancho Gordo’s Mexican hot chocolate disc — not used for morning coffee on the kitchen island and thought — hey that’d be good for mole

To do any experiment — one needs to clean the lab or kitchen — between cleaning and concocting — indulging in what we call Omolu’s formula mind — we made a passable mole from scraps — without any idea what to put it on

Noticed — the clouds — our weather simulators had promised would cause rain — were moving in — and we had said we would cut the grass

We had written the poem much earlier in the day — before a much debated kratom tea — and all the cooking without point had made us hungry — so having had over 5 years of experience in experimental procrastination protocols — made ramen

Ah! We saw how the piece ended and were now stuffed on Vite Ramen’s Curry 3.0 — out of Spicy Sieso — and rushed upstairs to share today’s post

We — of course — had forgotten the batteries — Not to distract you from the poem — but we thought those who champion SNUGGLES — SNUGGLES has changed their name to SLING6 — and THE BEAR has fallen

Batteries retrieved — keyboard activated — finally we get to today’s poem — let’s pretend together the poem exists separate from the rest of this post — although — we find context is everything — so don’t pretend very hard and realize the rules of the game changed before you even started playing

Our Hovering Lives
Con/Jur/d, 6/5/2024

I still hate poetry
they said, the flounces
the bounces, the immovability

lines carved in rock

THERE!

We shouted
not to be cagey
the way the false note
struck the inner-inner

EAR

with a crack loud
enough to make the dead
reconsider, reintroducing
liquidity to  sand 

the back of teeth
hairs on neck, hollow
gut apprehension

unsayable, unknowable
pointing to post thunder
silence, the ending of all
conjecture as lightning 

FLASH

              is poetry, the rest is

STOP

Stop?

stop

About the falling? 
not the river

the                      DROP

suspended, moving, falling
a quiet static roar as background 
stochastic flat and gloss refractions
surpassing verbalization, a clacking
a humming, around concave emptiness 

until
with a                  
                             PLONK

the DROP rejoins

THE GREAT OCEAN 

That's poetry? This? 

Just this? 

Our hovering lives? 

Exactly 

O, then we guess 
we quite like it.

TA DA! We finally remembered which Bear poem she was referring too! —

Much love,

Con/Jur/d, 6/5/2024