Day 28: Clippings

Today’s prompt is to write a concrete poem. Here is my pre-work, caffeinated, no-breakfast-yet, shaky attempt. I am not a visual artist.

Handwritten poem on white paper cut out in the shape of a crescent moon, photographed against a black background. The poem text is in the image caption.
“Narrow keratin clippings took one moon to grow one tenth of an inch on you. Time advances past your hands. Lives spring-loaded in your marrow. Leaves a skyful of wistful smiles.”


  1. Sonia Dogra · April 28

    Neither am I. Barely managed. But you did well.
    Time advances past your hand. What a beautiful way to talk about time’s fluidity.


  2. abigfatcanofworms · April 28



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