Trinity Tanka

I am become Death
We made a terrible thing
Destroyer of Worlds
What are you moping about?
We’re all sons of bitches now.

Manhattan Project physicists Richard Feynman, Bob Wilson and J. Robert Oppenheimer on the first atomic explosion, the 1945 Trinity Test. By Daniel Galef.

Beijing Brush

Brushes the wool smoothly sift,
full is not tightly easy
to fall off wool,
bright, rich, the touch is gentle
may with ease brush the cosmetics
evenly frivolous
naturally has just right.

The color nature easy to stick
to the silt, but sweeps the powder
evenly, lasting durable,
with the flesh close-fitting,
makeup effects on a more refined
and delicate, presents the perfect
tidal current cosmetics.

Blurb on retractable makeup brush packaging from China. By Cathy Bryant.

In the Shadow of Selene

There’s a thing about being alone
and
there’s a thing about being lonely
and
they’re two different things.

I was alone
—but—
I was not lonely.
I was very used to being by myself.
I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Far from feeling lonely
or abandoned
I feel very much a part of what is taking place
(I don’t mean to deny
a feeling of solitude.)

It is there,

reinforced by the fact … I am alone now
and absolutely isolated
from any (known) life.

If a count were taken,
the score would be:
three billion (plus two)
over on the other side
and
One (plus
God knows what else…)
on this side.

That was the best part of the flight.

From Al Worden: ‘The loneliest human being’ and Carrying the Fire by Michael Collins. By Daniel Galef.

Like Robert Frost

We have agreed to let the electric company trim some trees.
If they come when you are there

let them
Ensure they leave the wood behind.

Get them to put the small bits
behind the hazel bush

where the rest of the prunings are.
Try and get a card

from the wood cutter,
we have other trees

we’d like him to look at.
Don’t use the pump in the spring

for more than twenty minutes,
and meanwhile remember

to water everything if God
is not doing his fair share.

A note left for guests at a holiday cottage in Brittany, 2014. By Nigel Lawrence.

Mysteries of Carrados

“Two left shoes” he remarked encouragingly.
“And an equally devastating sight of two practically blind states in America”.

Smiling broadly, they were leaving like a airship. The war is
(P20) always exciting.

In a harmless war he had not had time to dig light that is
confidential on Monday afternoon.

I suppose you knew it was not out at sea, took it for granted.
Our submarine is echoing all which was expedient for a well-
(P40) known lady employer.

“What course for the news?”, replied the girl. “Can I see who
had been asked out?” The man will tell you anything and rather
gratuitously it seemed.

Carrados could watch them licking. When the answer here
should be paid no attention until this chair is vacant and the
(P71) room without a word; like a shaken hand.

Murder something with one mistake. He will never notice a
strange message of misgiving had no difficulty in finding her.

A little attempt now to hear there’s nothing like a good
testimony in a low voice. No photograph possessing
(P95) identification is unnaturally white.

It was the first time an empty chair splashed like a moments
worry. The most difficult alibi forgotten in case you cared and
nothing else at first.

It was the faintest idea to come prompted on the bare earth
(P114) followed through seriously simple explanation.

He would like to see time from just one window. Drink this
garden and assist melancholy admiration before the seal of
iron.

And the angel looked at me. A dazzling thing. The lady of
simultaneous voices rising in the dead of night without the
(P133) remotest hope to prick up their ears.

Interment, there in the dark. Unique mothers of the coming generation.

More happened if they could be drawn into the now vigorous soil.

That was plainly so much. So the giant in charge within
(P156) straightened spirits on that heart-throbbed dead weight,

His face was not her husband and children didn’t know his wife.
You can hear a very intoxicated man a mile away. You must not
ask him sometime about when the paper said you could give
me an idea.

(P174) I wish I’d known. The blind and the first people who were not a
painting gave him the details of the letters.

Burning the place down was his way to be the victim.
To be spread:

(P189) Afraid to trust silent and deserted streets.

We used to have just coffee and water beetles. The very
opposite of money before our faces of pink.

(P198) A plague that furnished nightmares with quick feeling.

Touching, I appreciate onions…

As we are shrank back into fluency. The dirty appetite too near.

Hard-cased sleeping inside the dynamo to transform
(P212) mechanical force into quiet professional clatter.

The cigar that made the alibi unconvincing and the man it might blind.

To outwit five senses of old. His eyes were open, voice ingenious.

I should advise of traffic mentally described. To get some reason in the five minutes that they had atmosphere.

His mind was an inexhaustible hunger. A dish of water to be left at night. No means of stopping the leak it seems.

(P237) And for god’s sake, don’t stop there.

From Max Carrados Mysteries, 1964. A hole was drilled through the book and words taken consecutively from every page, next to the hole. Created by Winston Plowes.