Spam Poem

[sickle_stories]

Original spam poem, taking bits from Chicago Press Winter Poems Collection:

Away from their profundity of surface.
People might see to be the opening
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
Left and right, and far ahead in the dusk.
will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.
High on this surface, guarding the edge of Père
This gap in time, this season not their own,
That open before me? What I see
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Against this sky no longer of our world.
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
Event, the end of the painted road ends up
Glimmering of light:
A kind of snow, which hesitates
The form sought for centuries by
The mortal architect had brought to life,
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
To reach out into its own vanishing

My rearrangement and slight alteration of the spam poem:

What I see: wind, sleet.
The branches sway
against this sky no longer of our world.

Glimmering of light:
a kind of snow which hesitates,
hiding on this surface, guarding the edge.

Away from the profundity of space
people might see the opening.
This gap in time, this season not their own,
will be pencilled on the coffee-shop menus
for a few dreamy dollars.

Open before me,
brought to life
in Winter Haven,
sputtering, smoking:
the mortal architect.

His sightless eyes horribly watch the air:
left and right,
and far ahead into the dusk.

Variations on some stanzas:

His sightless eyes horribly watch the air:
left and right,
and far ahead into the dusk
to reach out into its own vanishing event,
the end of the painted road.

1) In Winter Haven,
open before me,
the form sought for centuries
brought to life
by the mortal architect.

2) In Winter Haven,
open before me,
the form sought for centuries
by the mortal architect.

3) In Winter Haven,
open before me,
sputtering, smoking,
the form sought for centuries
by the mortal architect.

4) Open before me,
brought to life
sputtering, smoking,
Winter Haven:
the form sought for centuries
by the mortal architect.

5) Open before me,
brought to life
sputtering, smoking,
the form sought for centuries
by the mortal architect.

6) Open before me,
brought to life
sputtering, smoking:
the mortal architect.