I'm assiduously not doing my work at all. So instead I went to my stats page, and the search strings that have lead poor innocent souls to my corner of the internets. And then, in order to keep procrastinating, I did the thing where I manipulate the words there into something resembling a poem. What you find here is completely composed of search string words -- I went back about six months. It makes little to no sense, but it's a special kind of geeky fun:


Unto these swollen bones,
my forehead at night,
you sometimes flew.

Backlit, nude, I made you images:
dogs of sand, clowns from shattered chalk.

You grew lilies in a damned field.
Yours, a yellow love. Yours, a great pain:
A slash, a Ragnarok, a tight distance to your Chicago.
I hate how you bent deeper into your fiction --
clever rings. Arise, warlike tongue. Arise, neon lords.
You, prince, boxing and fucking. You scar from it,
waiting like ladies do.

This season bends, formal, to my men.
You, too thin, punished, leave for the watershed.