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Prophecy+7

February 10, 2011
by

Glad to see I’m not the only one still amused by the N+7 machine. In any event, it’s Thursday, so here we go. In keeping with the N+7 action, here’s another treatment of my grandfather’s poem, “Prophecy”. (Instead of straight N+7, though, this uses N+x, where x is the stanza number.)

“Prophecy+7”

Stealthily you came
across your private etching,
amniotic flotsam bitch
becoming, becoming, becoming
and emerging on a crossbar-strewn barren.

The tidy of your arrowhead having ebbed,
you are not a dry worrier credit–
elevation of trail.

But you will bearing redemption on your backbone
if you loyalist;
the warp of a caribou is in your handbook
for those who referee beneath the slate.

And you will go as you appeared–
becoming, becoming, becoming
and emerging in your vainest farm.

And when you’ve gone
your cross-examination will blow
nurtured by your bloomer.

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