Read a poem by another poet written
on the same day:

M
the midpoint
halfway through the month and
one bump and
time resets itself.
without the advent of story management
years go by painlessly
chickens feed themselves roosters
formaldehyde rots
we are too cool

sedative, please.

frequent trips up and down the stairs
makes one angry.

MORNING—SPACE

a large fruit freefalls end over
end toward a small planet that
is not Earth. the fruit begins
to heat up and smell good as it hits
the atmosphere.

Commodore Wiley: Are we evacuated?

Billy: Well, yes sir, just the 2 of us.
does that qualify as an evacuation?

Wiley: Yes. Let's have a smoothie,
shall we?

that's not poetry.