More forays into fizzpo.

The Components of Separation, or
I Miss the Way Your Ass Looks on my Answering Machine
--Jessica Rowan

message: I am no good for the speck of you
message: I hearted you and now I can't heart no more
message: My vessel is micro-brewed -- I flew downstream a bit and all I got was this stupid shirt
message: autumn
message: saved
message: In the year 1877 I found you in a barrel on the third avenue south of the ferry and made you into pies and belt buckles for my children and saved the marrow for the rain
message: Love is funk devoid of the breaks
message: 10,000 3-minute, 53-second songs
message: Perhaps you can pick up your things between the struggle and the stain
message: deleted
message: lightning
message: I am on time to your off on Tuesday
message: I am on time to your bitter lag
message: I am on time to that place where your face is carved out and your hair and ankles are nervous and brisk
message: That I might take comfort in the base of your skull, in the flesh of your stomach, in your ear bone, I offer vacancy
message: terrified
message: last Tuesday
message: Your cleft hooves founder and I pick the dirt from your hide with a straw and my tiniest breath
message: There is a new freckle on you upper left arm and a new scar on your Buick
message: Let me begin again
message: I'm sleeping and you're not invited
message: You are the best of the mild, the blue-eyed bad luck goodbye, and the somebody who's been sleeping through the war of art
message: out of print
message: Joanie didn't plan to take her shirt off and now the berries tear and stain the skin with ink and honey
message: Dixie called to borrow something heavy and darkish
message: My inner child wants to eat your brains
message: found
message: I will marry the master of face manipulation and bone loss
message: I celebrate the sun with a cigarette
message: I am no good for that apple you're eating and I am no good for the hole in the bottom of your jeans and I am no good for a spare piece of twine that holds the littler pieces of you from crumbling and dancing like something without grace or shin-splints

***

This is fizzpo because:

1) The "message:" format is boldly futurist and unapologetic about modern ennui.
2) These lines aren't particularly langpo. Though words drift in and out of them in the wrong places, it all seems to come from the same soda. Witness: "Love is funk devoid of the breaks" This line makes tremendous sense. Each bubble ("love" then "funk" then "devoid" then "breaks") pops of its own accord, but together assembles a dizzy and fizzy union.
3) "My inner child wants to eat your brains" -- we are in this neighborhood
4) "Joanie didn't plan to take her shirt off" -- we are in this neighborhood
5) And I don't even need to evoke all the slender hallelujahs. Read them for yourself, owners of eyes and ears.
6) And I don't even need to mention the heart. Imagine if 7-11 made a parade float of its Big Gulp drink. That would be 1/4 the size of the fizzy heart that drums through this poem.

This is a rough draft of said poem, but luckily fizzpo is a colonizing force and lacks moral qualms about publishing rough drafts. Still, as a qualifier: I think some lines aren't as fizzy and should be sliced. Still! Jessica is unafraid to explore the fizziness of one word lines, which I think may be one of the hardest tropes to align with fizzpo. I'm not sure at all how to make single word stabs fizzy, so I totally welcome the effort.