SPAM POETRY Vol. 5

At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Or by the loud hand of painting, always puts.
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
For any part of them we can make out
Rain. We are forced to fly,
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
To reach out into its own vanishing
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
By what it seems to have moved toward. In any
Gray the cloud-like oaks
As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,
Empty streets I come upon by chance,
XX. To the Pole


This is a special day. Not only did a new spam poem show up in my inbox but it was accompanied by an oh-so-helpful price chart for software.



I wish every item up for sale came with a non-sensical poem. It would make shopping that much more fun!

Please note that there is a line in this poem that was also included in Spam Poetry Vol. 4. I wonder - is the mysterious spam poet getting writers block? Or, is "The Great Northern Expedition" a recurring theme we should keep watching for? I'm on the edge of my seat! It's like a goddamn friday episode of Days.