Political poems are by definition clunkers. They feel heavy and weigh in awkward. Here is one of mine that started its life as bit of prose that I knew had to end up being a poem:   Clunker #1   We have lost, more birds, to suicide on our front porch window glass this year…

I took one of my own poems and opened up some gaps for you to fill in. Make free with this just as you might with any dadaist chaos. Be a poetic bomb thrower. Hope Is _______________   The land don’t ___________. if I am ______________. It never grows _______________ so it heaps _______.  ____________ on our…