Acrostic 5

All of us collectively watch our dead ideals crust over like a scab.
Wandering through the remains of our principles today is obscene.
After our self-congratulatory ovations in hell
Kill any remaining authenticity we'll fall, like so many Narcissi,
Ever more with ourselves as our dreams become mundane.
None of it is necessary if you realize the entirety of yourself.

Acrostic 4

The last few days here have at last been warm, after a rough, dark, terrible winter in Maryland. This piece sums up how I felt a few days ago before the thaw.

For this one, I just let myself go in regards to beats per line. In general I have tried to keep to ten beats each, but that was mostly an arbitrary decision to define perimeters. It hasn't worked out as well as I thought, and I may just release that restriction from here on out. This one felt much easier and much more fun to write without it, and in the end, this type of poem already does have quite the defined constrictions, what with the letters and words and the order in which they appear. Probably the way to go from now on during this exploration, at least until some novel idea turns up for one specific poem.

*

Weary of the car getting buried.
Inside the house all day and all night.
Never certain when the roads are clear.
Too much ice breaking up my trees.
Every other day comes with a weather warning.
Remember summer? Does it still exist?