Seven-Hundred & Fifteen Poems For Newly-Discovered Planets

 

I will name you all

Never mind, I will not name you

715

Delicious thing,

undying rock,

you are

in the shape of

great hands of something

 

and 714:

the taste of juniper 

and the faint night beneath

 

713

well

let’s see.

 

712 to 643

I bit a hole in my fingerprint 

because I’m nervous about the future

We need to find this dog a home

 

A young pup rings round into himself;

seagull ears wing at the prick of something

indistinguishable 

 

The word ‘encouraging’

reminds me of

the white wrinkled in your fingers

when your hands prune in the tub

 

The dog nips, the dog snores

He bites my chin

And the sun rises against a satellite dish

that’s one of the few indications 

that they day is starting

 

642 to 608

I’m wearing too many pairs of pants

which is just one

 

607 to 523

I feel like John Lithgow

is always about to offer me

milk and cookies

 

When I check my credit score, 

I feel like I am pulling 

a major

India Jones maneuver

 

I could spend

the whole day

getting ready

for the whole day

 

522 to 444

Rain creates purple

I mean purpose

I dream of finding money

a thin was

of four fives

stacked, sticking together

rested (or hidden)

in the bottom

of the back

of a cab

 

443 to 399

This refrigerator opens only with a password

 

398 to 392

I can get so sad for myself

and send myself out

into that same day

 

The sky seems smaller, soft and 

plush, in the cold clear grey

lower down, closer to

reaching range

 

Strangely enough, it’s just one 

of those things

you can never touch

 

This wasn’t

worth it—

a shirt and

a whistle—

whatever

 

391 to 318:

Hi, my name is 

“I am going to leave 

for a little while.”

 

Want me to grab anything

while I’m out?

 

Haven’t I told you?

I can’t return those,

because I never had them

to begin with

 

317 to 222

All the tulips look through 

the window aside from one

who’s had too much

to drink The stingray is 

obscene He’s sad 

I’m leaving, so he’s 

stress-eating all of 

the shrimp that were

from the sea and are now 

piled high in the market

Dear dear dog announces 

himself and into my 

cooking class

The stingray is still

disappointed in himself 

and others A small bit of 

seablood and saltwater 

falls a little in a dribbled 

path out of his mouth and 

gills and he’s gonna

leave it on his belly for now

Suddenly, the tulips pay

attention to me But

elsewhere, a ficus is

looking for love out

in the wild, stirring in 

the heat, hoping for a

husband and some kids

 

221 to 147

poems are like sausage 

and the anxiety attack

I’m about to happen

is a mix of all the wasted

sampler paint in the 

Home Depot 

where my dad would take me

when he was young

and I was younger

 

146 to 83

Last night I had a dream that

I was the newest cast member

of SNL

and we performed the episode

in front of a live studio audience

on stage in the cafeteria

of my grammar school

 

82 to 24 

No one is that interesting, and neither are their dreams

 

23 to 4

Here is a ball, it is resting on a small table in front of you, you are seated, just as the ball is seated, you are still, but ready to move Now I take a cup, holding it to show you that is nothing in it  and I raise my eyebrows to indicate you know all that I know which is very little and you nod your head that we can begin even though we don’t know what we’re beginning

 

3 to 1

I leave you for good luck;

you are not new, you are free, name

yourselves

 

Leah Clancy is doing dishes in the other room, and might not be able to hear you over the running water. 

Intermediately

 

something about this feels important

maybe it is something to do

with the weight hanging from my face

 

in the afterlife

you donate yourself

that was something essential that I grew to

while growing up

 

The chances of finding a match

are 1 in 30,000

it turns out I might be one

even in the great odds

which stand against me

 

something in me

could be somebody’s miracle

some body’s miracle

some bodies, miraculous

 

miles away

they’re testing my blood

while I am in the air

in transit

in the belly of something

much bigger than myself

 

I feel most like a young soul

when I’m in a cloud

I feel most sad

when I can’t feel it

 

 

Leah Clancy writes, and wants to be a writer, but can she call herself that yet? She’s somewhat like a divorcee that has never been married, and is about to trade Brooklyn in for something different.