Ameila Loves The Way

Amelia loves the way
the sundial fetter struck
the herdsman
double space
sundog numbering
backfield decoder.

Amelia sat under the canopy of a
dead star placing rubric ice wagon
cubes into glasses.

The clocksmith drank ipecac
at mealtime, and listened to the
embryo laughter as he began
to retch.

The flautist loves his chemical
flashbulb slave especially when
she undresses like a flickertail in
an inkwell.

Amelia just smiles and
dreams of the lovely
nude catapult and the
hot tin pan Sunday.

I used to be in love with Ouvroir de littérature potentielle, and do poems using mathematics and constraints all the time. This is an old OULIPO experiment I did ages ago- the original input poem was lost to time. I resurrected this piece for dVerse.


9 thoughts on “Ameila Loves The Way

  1. Oh this is wonderful. But the poor clocksmith! I just realized the connection between this form and the dadaists…just my guess, but this seems like a poem that would fit well into the school of poetry.

  2. ah nude catapults are the best…the last stanza almost for a second comes to coherence and pulls you out of the surreal for just a second…..def feel some flarp influence as well…

  3. she undresses like a flickertail in
    an inkwell.

    Hah! I imagined this mad dashed panic of stripping in the dark, as though knowing her clothes were suddenly bug infested just as the lights go out. A nude catapult indeed.

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