prompt

i once contemplated what a poem might look like if it were almost wholly composed of song titles. a little idiosyncratic, but may it inspire:

far away is the man i love 

and his sweet tooth, mumbling 

on a blanket the beer barrel polka 

with a storm in his tired hands. 

i pick at the grieving breath, 

the seagull of moth wings 

and blueberry mountains. 

dear cliff-top, the deer will write

with angry ink, biting at red apples - 

it's like reaching for the moon - 

the body's dance, handjobs for the holidays. 

i would be remiss not to thank my dutiful favorites: national skyline, art tatum, gillian welch & dave rawlings, autolux, the andrews sisters, josé gonzález, k.c. accidental, benoit pioulard, first aid kit, manchester orchestra, cat power, billie holiday, broken social scene

margaret draft '13