A few weeks ago I posted how a friend and I were going to go slow and write a poem as if it were a game of chess.  We’re doing this on twitter.   Each week (or two weeks, as I was battling some wicked depression the past couple weeks) we post our line of the poem.  Here it is so far.  I’m leaving out who wrote what- if you want to know, I started, so the first line is mine and we are switching every other line.  But the point is to be as cohesive as possible!

UNTITLED Literary Chess Poem:

Pork passion infiltrates the Urban Outfitters, the social media, the ‘must love’ lists
Just outside Urban Outfitters dandelion fluff erupts into the air and nobody cares.
It’s easy to pass by seeds searching for purchase, ignoring the metaphor of middle age
While pacing the sidewalk, random memories fire–like how I used to be so jealous of my shadow.

When I face the light, eyes squinting from the sun, I am forced to leave my darkness behind, a trail
of past symbols and memories that make me overdose on the internet and other distractions.
Then, once more, my roommate wakes hours after I have walked the lake. He fills the house with smells of stereotypes- bacon, burnt toast, a clogged shaver

and these smells trigger memories that both soothe and scare the shit out of me
In the wave of memory I once again seek solace: a surfboard, leash, wetsuit, the courage to stand.