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The first harvest of the new year, my fourteenth with a daily practice of writing one 17 syllable poem. More on American Sentences elsewhere on this site, but for now, a few from 2014:

1.3.14 – A sort of Sudhana seeks the genius loci of Cascadia.
1.5.14 – Motherfucker Motherfucker Motherfucker Motherfucker Moth…
1.6.14 – Parent at the toddler gym can’t do the hula hoop while she chews gum.
1.7.14 – Reefer Madness: Explosion in Mt. Baker blamed on hash oil solvent.
1.8.14 – Not clouds passing by the waxing moon, shadow of prayer flags by porch light.
1.9.14 – Geese make their V where clouds start today, three feet above Lake Washington.
1.13.14 – The plate on which his fork pushes crinkle cut fries through ketchup is striped.
1.16.14 – His tradition “points him to God” but he’s headed for the salad bar.
1.19.14 – “Smackdown Poet Laureate” Richard Sherman foils the last bicep kiss.
1.20.14 – In ancient China Sam says he and I’d have been “scholars out of office.”
1.22.14 – Facebook is over now so your children can accept your friend request.
1.23.14 – To an ESL class explain the phrase: “I’ve a lot of shit on my plate.”
1.24.14 – Not a sidewalk shower head – one standing January sunflower.
1.28.14 – It is hard to picture the winter fig tree having fruit in eight months.

I Don't Understand.

I Don’t Understand.

1.29.14 – Every time I get a glimpse of that Shar Pei he has a confused look.
1.30.14 – A night of no stars, waves of mist must create their own constellations.
1.13.14 – He’s got his hand so far up the bell of his French horn it hurts.
2.2.14 – How Seattle fans root in the Super Bowl: “Go Seahawks, Namaste.”
2.4.14 – Not electricity zipping through the wires, chitter of bushtits.
2.8.14 – Lectured on what’s “original” by the drummer of a cover band.