The Dichotomous Quarter Poems

I found a quarter that had its normal silvery color on one side and a magical signal color, slightly golden, on the other. I took it out of the register after giving the register one of my quarters. That quarter was happy to go. This quarter is happy to be part of my new bedroom family of purposeless novelty objects. I call those members of that family PNO Pals. That's a god damn lie and you know it.

Anyway the quarter's on my desk and I haven't done anything with it yet and the couplets I wrote a couple minutes ago, anti-couplets if you will, since they were composed in a lazy and clever fashion and that's about it, remind me of that quarter. If anyone cares the quarter had been in my sight, and still is in my sight, when I wrote those and as I write this. It's a magical coin that has earned its credit and that's why I'm giving it what it has due to it. Enjoy these couplets as they were primarily written for entertainment. If you find them unfunny or even miserable you can email me at gregbem@gmail.com, but make sure you have something constructive to say.

It's a great time to be destructive or unconstructive, but I won't have it, at least I will not promote it, despite my own modes of creativity. Also have you read a religious text lately?

This development
more plastic than soldier.

This development
the ground now liquid.

After three thousand years
the world is creaking shut.

The world is more than a door—
do not let me tell you otherwise.

Changes come forward
aromatic like shredded oranges.

This development
breathing without a cough.

This development
nothing but purpose.

Our goals were destroyed
blowing around; confetti, insects.

The elk cry out somewhere up there
but those who hear have full mouths.

I walked away on the ground
which was melting and important.

Shredded orange peels;
nothing served but purpose.

Doubt comes in cloak
to shadow strips of metal.

The full glass of water
needs little editing.

Running along paths
like the bunny slippers.

A shot to the heart
and you still are to blame.

Drum lines form the air
with every arm up and behind.

If I could do anything at all
says the girl to her doll.

Choice remonstrated
before we sniffled.

Purple lilacs sway,
are still pinchbecks.

This development
news from up north.

This development
little more than elk hooves.

I wanted to wish someone
but you wouldn’t focus back.

Four dolls hang from trees
and have rings around necks.

Under the boat a flamethrower
shooting blanks at ichthyologists.

Tell me the reasons
you were on crack cocaine.

This development
frogs as bad subject matter.

This development
nothing more than coke frogs.

The first man smiled
eyes like a frog when I said no.

The second man threw my pennies
and shouted what the fuck to me.

You were distributed
but the cut was too hard.

This development
is burn holes in the carpet.

Ten Minutes Later Update

I decided to submit this to the 13th Annual Poetry Ink Chapbook that the late Robin's Books puts out. The submission can only be one page in length, however, so I reformatted the original series into a condensed version, which I would normally post below but, in honor of the chapbook, will refrain from posting.