Step 1. Write word-centos of poetry by Edward Vidaurre,
Dayna Patterson, Hedy Habra and Sonja Johanson.
(A word-cento is one of my invented forms of poetry. It is
a rearrangement of the words of a poem by a single author.
I try to exhaust every single word of the poem (though lately
I’ve only been doing some). I lose the structure of the original
poem, do not position any two unique words next to each other,
and the resulting poem is a response to or a continuation of the
original poem.) [Note: Sonja Johanson’s word-cento was
composed while listening to Miles Davis, In A Silent Way,
and Edward Vidaurre’s while listening to Jimi Hendrix
Experience, ‘Scuse Me… While I Kiss The Sky (1970).]

 

I, GOD / GOD IS (VII-X)

(a word-cento of Edward Vidaurre’s
“God Is” *)

VII.

–And God, listen! Drink me! – naked noise breathing
hyphens hymns of you, unbelievable suicide-shadow
smoker in the sky covering sun with an anorexic angel-
gun— speeding ellipses, life of chimes in exile: skin
breaking skin, language into death, digits doing dead
skywritings behind bars, chest cleaner celestial stars,
sounds of the just dead ufo hobo hippie whispers six
six six – tracks soil off mountains, breath-blamed big
for barking G o d ! G o d ! G o d ! Go d ! I ! I ! I ! I ! —

And God, listen! Drink me! for breath-blamed big
beat in trans-genius mind-monk movement over
Motown mountains in the whisky-morning sky,
THAT I ! THAT I, GOD !

VIII.

I, G O D. I listen to me. Drink gods, God!

IX.

I, G O D. I listen to me and drink me: I, G O D
of side-booze stars unfazed by street-strain silence,
syndrome-switch stutter, safety: dead poet lays
our wound leftover by the thing not a thing,
by that God tired of me, too tired not to drink.

X.

Drink me, God. Listen to guilty men— wind stutter
in the dead water.

* Original poem by Edward Vidaurre
from Pandemia & Other Poems (Aztlan
Libre Press, 2020), Pushcart-nominated
for When the Virus Came Calling:
COVID-19 Strikes America (Golden
Foothills Press, 2020). Reprinted in Life
in Quarantine project.

 

GOD BETWEEN GOD

(a word-cento of Dayna Patterson’s
“Pied Beauty Redux” *)

stretching sky-split birth
Brahma breeze, billions of
breaths hauling breaths
between beaches
where God falls & I kneel
stretched between beaches,
between breaths mating
in the breeze,
an altar of marbled galaxies
dark adazzle—
stretched between beaches,
between breaths,
between God.

* Original poem by Dayna Patterson
published in Jet Fuel Review, Fall 2020.

 

FLOORLESS

(a word-cento of Hedy Habra’s
“Brushstrokes” *)

Waves torrent awry life
like a dress, black waves
immersed in rhythm,
a requiem in the mirror,
algae and verdigris
surrounding the drowning
woman reflected
behind a moment.
Her face wide-open, empty
on the floor.

* Original poem by Hedy Habra first published
by Danse Macabre, from Under Brushstrokes
(Press 53 2015).

 

NO ONE LISTENED

(a word-cento of Sonja Johanson’s
“Cassandra” *)

I.

Mouths strain salt species south
to die.

Suddenly, shower sand on camels
in leviathans’ ocean

Women trailing monster flukes mindful

A hundred empty Eden

and catalogue buckets, rope.

We love extinction.

II.

Spread milk across the edge of
events,
bills in a whale entanglement
yet to fall
Eden Echo.

III.

Stable air.
Ripples mammoth missiles
mysticetes circumpolar
drive

off changes,
drought killed now,
crushed the year,
shivered mouths open

listened into the air.

IV.

Thalassa starved them red,
too red
for icy milk
in Iraq,
winged by baleen body pollution
pouring
milk.

V.

We studied milk drops
and cut our house,
calf off cliff,
slaughter same changes gray

against science –
thick, thick science
shivered mountains under
teeth

VI.

Red rorquals
growing into failure.

We felt failure evolve
against our house,
sluiced, shivered
spread in to the air.

No one listened.

* Original poem by Sonja Johanson
published in Ninth Letter, Spring/
Summer 2017.

 

Step 2. Write a meditative insert as follows: Turn on the
TV; don’t change the channel. Meditate on the TV and
have a few random books near you (Jack Kerouac, The
Sea Is My Brother; William S. Burroughs, Naked Lunch; Anne
Waldman, The Beat Book; Sylvia Plath, Ariel; Ray Bradbury,
Fahrenheit 451; Dana Gioia, 99 Poems: New & Selected)
and let the pages slip through your hands and type up random
words you see mixed with random words you hear on the TV
and random words you feel within your heart, channeled by
the muse.

[NOTE: Omitting the display of the meditative insert due to
the length of the column. Please read the rest of the column.]

 

Step 3. Combine word-centos and meditative insert,
listening to The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967).

THAT’S THE MOMENT (combo)

The muse is a cruel temptress of the night.
Numb is the flashlight of bliss.
I don’t know why I’m beating myself
with a uniform of gilded sorrow
But I want to feel candlelight
stretching sky-split birth

There are no worries for heaven
when you’re dead to heaven.

–And God, listen! Drink me! – naked noise breathing
hyphens hymns of you, unbelievable suicide-shadow
smoker in the sky covering sun with an anorexic angel-
gun— speeding ellipses, life of chimes in exile: skin
breaking skin, language into death, digits doing dead
skywritings behind bars, chest cleaner celestial stars,
sounds of the just dead ufo hobo hippie whispers six
six six – tracks soil off mountains, breath-blamed big
for barking G o d ! G o d ! G o d ! Go d ! I ! I ! I ! I ! —

My worries are weary.
My song is sad.
Sadder than the saddest song you’ve ever
sung.

And God, listen! Drink me! for breath-blamed big
beat in trans-genius mind-monk movement over
Motown mountains in the whisky-morning sky,
THAT I ! THAT I, GOD !

And when I kiss you, your dream disport—
I, G O D. I listen to me.
Enjoy
This sacred
Seder
Sedation— I, G O D. I listen to me.
Waves torrent awry life
like a dress, black waves
endearing silence, I have let you be my ocean
For eve of ever-
Not enough woe I call you mountains home so
I can Be Brahma Breeze, billions of
breaths hauling breaths
between beaches
where God falls & I kneel,
and wake into
I, G O D. I listen to me and drink my
Passages stretched between beaches,
between breaths
mating in the breeze.
I will love you forever
And pass the contact into heaves, heaven,
an altar of marbled galaxies, algae and verdigris
surrounding the drowning
I, G O D. I listen and drink me—
side-booze stars unfazed by street-strain silence
stretched between beaches, between breaths
between God—
–And God, listen! Drink me!

Few have felt floundering woe
And breathed in true meaning: joy
Silence—
Stretched between beaches, between breaths,
between—
dark adazzle
behind a moment reflected
requiem in the mirror: — I, G O D !
Empty Eden! Eden Echo!
I, G O D. Mirror in the requiem,
spread milk across the edge.
Silence is joy and woe
Ailing into I love you— dead water

I’ve been writing the
wire of life— I, God! –
Stable air ripples mammoth missiles.
Ivory heaps of sulfur bubble into your swaps
Our wound leftover by the thing not a thing,
by that God tired of me, too tired not to drink.
Dreamfoes of Indra’s woe
Mouths stain species south to die.
I, G O D wielded by the hot sacrifice—
(We love extinction.)
I wake up to angels laughing
events,
bills in a whale entanglement
yet to fall

Broken.
I am broken.
Off changes,
Drought killed now,
Crushed the year, stranded between beaches,
between breaths, between— I, G O D!

Cicero bursting in a bag of magic
Reborn into tools, teshuva
Teardrops in the stars too red for icy milk,
too red to listen to guilty men: —
Facing a second ember
In your eyes
Slighted by smiling faces starved red.
I don’t know
Disrupting my train of thought
Gong shivered mouths open

listened into the air.
And I see the lights in the sky take me
Away stretched between beaches,
Between breaths
Of broken glass
THAT I ! THAT I, G O D, shower on camels
in leviathans’ oceans;
turning your drama into future bangs.

Mexico shooting squalor burrows into
my brain, wide-open, empty—
Step down president.
Free yourself from questions.
Bar celestial captains resigning from the ship
of sweeping squalors.
Listening to sqwablr,
dreaming of headshots in captivity,
oceans of woe.
Step down from your ledge, my salty savior.
Drink, God, I want all the woe to weep for itself
in leviathan oceans on the floor.
Blue death, a bomb maimed by wisdom
World – aimless rocking
against science –
thick, thick science shivered.

Let heaven rest for awhile while I hold you
in my tears.
My chairs floating into the stratosphere
stripped of all reassurance
the world is safe
from ice-burgs
blessed by things we enjoy the most
but only once we
disappear into
darkness,
fly back to fix positions of poison
and cut our house, mountains under teeth,
rorquals growing into failure,
into sky-split birth.

God is with us when we’re hungry
even in the valley looking back
a meteor shower of love.

We feel failure
against our house,
sluiced, shivered
spread into the air
between beaches, between breaths—
I, G O D! Drink
billions of breaths hauling breaths
reflected drowning,
a requiem in the mirror.

II.

Looking back, I leave a legacy in your eyes
pouring milk
–no choice. No one listens.
Piece back my loneliness bleeding
in alone: breaths of woe—yet wonder?
Wonder, woe – I oscillate between the vines of every
Oceantree
And broken dreams worship their own broken dreams
And I can’t treat the world
In a dream
When I am
I AM.
And I want to wallow
into atoms of atonement.

And sure, suffering is a dying
dream
Heaven has cleared you for takeoff,
Fly, fly
Jittering into desperate leisure
Dribbling identity down the court,
My child realizes broken
Is all right
And the biggest words in the tallest tower
Is “I don’t know”
“I was wrong”
“I am sorry”

Tragedy swims in your eyes, stars, we wonder
over woe
and the emotion is nowhere but with you.
Gone into the void of whispers wilting
away into the wild waltz of the world.
The wild wind is on our side of suffering,
Sadness, the stilts of twilight never go
And torches woe, trust, our never-fearful thunder
Shake the glee of thunder
Humored by howls in the game
Calmly with nightingale dignity
Recoils from maturity sold here,
Sold swollen
Swift, silky soul
In the dead ideals
of veiled woe, silos of suave sinister hope
and woe is woe, my stillness, my friend
woe is woe, owls of woe, if only you could bleed
blessings true as the blue mountains—if only!
Your wistful wisecracks sweat cliffs in the flowers
Flowing in the swirls wone and wonderful
And woe is a switch
Sky soiled in the woe
And woe is sown shut by the openness of me

Swift silky sold
In the dead
Idols of walls, frail and siegeless
Sincerity dwindles in the cinderblock of stars
And sow my everlasting eons
Into the endless nighteyed woe
Conned by thick of year
Smoking in the mirror
Dressing through the wounded will to live
Aching from the ever-festering fear
My love for truth is thrown off trees
And industrial stars, woe-zeal in the crack
Of heaven
Eek! cracks eek in heaven
Burnt up in our suffering
I weep for you
Into the wow of silence. Naked as the funeral
Speaks sparks of less-than-nothing
How do you become blessed by your freedom?
I ask the wind for comfort
But I am battered by nothng but bits and pieces
OF myself on the floor full of memories
And winter lets me go nowhere to hear your
Screech
Your pinched passion on my nape, woe is nowhere
To be found,
In the forever of the night

And I drink God
drowning in an echo…
Eden trailing off…

Let me go nowhere to hear your
Screech
Into the blacksummer sky.
I will wander into heaven,
hovering over blue mountains,
Falling bombs, anorexic angels,
winged by baleen body pollution—
Stretching explosions, shattering shards
reflected in rhythm of my breaths
between breaths, between beaches
awaiting jealous travelers
To grasp my impossible.
Sun start
Starving salvation,
America yawned
Full of liquor
And uncertainty
In my arms,
O History!
–tight and depressed
Roaming the plains of my chest into woe
And release
Reality is a relay race. Would you take me
In the moment
And make love to the stars
Whimper into the impossible,
stretching into the whisky-morning sky
Glaze over the start of something
New, something new as the god in us all
The one you can’t seem to quiet,
But which you want to never silence.
And I will teach you how to
Ebb and flow
Cases of concrete bliss,
Contracts signed to the stars in heaven:
And woe is gone—
Soaring in the right direction, a belief,
In the opposite direction of heaven
A feud of failure:

America burning acrid, still shaking Her head
Shy
Seedlings in sky plant freeze frame of
A movie
Magic eyelashes

My eyes ebb and flow into solitude,
Solace is peace, my prayer
For us all.
I want to thank you
God
For all I have
Hidden
From myself
A tapestry of synonyms
Melting in the universe

Lights ethereal, sum of our stars,
I want to thank you
For all I have

Relay into ebb and flow
And I want to thank you

I want to thank you
For all I have
And I want to close my eyes
And pray
Pray for solitude and solace
Pray for my sinew stress to be
A volition worth transcending.

They say that transcendence is a thing of the past
But I know what you are after: you want it all:
The whole bowl of the universe is already empty
But when you touch your nose as you glide off the
Cliff
And watch the disastrous thunder for omniscience
I taste fire and become cold as the monster within us all
And I will pray still
For salvation – she is an angel of the will
To live
For the rising tide to set in the east
And break the tendrils of time
Release an immediate rise
Again,
And again,
I’m light, a child
Dreaming of the Be in us all
Peace is
The motion of the earth keeps
Blooming
Revolutions in the freeway lapses
We are nowhere near the owls
Of darkness – praise it! Stardust shields
Despite the knock on the doorway of life glistening
In the cerebral joy
Smiling
Collectively
And I can still hear you whispering
a luminous silence, a silence more than
whispering softly
into my ear.
I’ll send it now down the steps of uncertainty in the woe
sigh into embers zoomed
away into roadless roads walking into their woe
pewgracers give and step down
from tears, jaded loneliness
And fly

 

Right side displays the word-centos. On the left is the meditative insert. Writing shows the ordering and inserting the one into the other. Yellow highlighted lines are lines not used in final piece. Yellow highlighted bracketed x’s – i.e., [x] – indicate the lines were indeed used after typing up this image. (Note: some yellow highlighted lines might not have corresponding highlighted [x]’s where there should be some.) Color of writing shows to which word-cento the words correspond. Hedy Habra word-cento is blue, Sonja Johanson is green, Dayna Patterson black and Edward Vidaurre red. Black writing in brackets indicates rearranged lines or rephrased from the meditative insert part.

 

Joshua Corwin, a Los Angeles native, is a neurodiverse, 2-time Pushcart Prize-nominated, 1-time Best of the Net-nominated poet and Spillwords Press Publication of the Month winner. His debut poetry collection Becoming Vulnerable (2020) details his experience with autism, addiction, sobriety and spirituality. He has lectured at UCLA, performed at the 2020 National Beat Poetry Festival and Mystic Boxing Commission Festival of Sound and Vision, read with 2013 US Presidential Inaugural Poet Richard Blanco, Michael C. Ford, S.A. Griffin, Ellyn Maybe, among others. His Beat poetry is to be anthologized alongside Ferlinghetti, Hirschman, Ford, Coleman and Weiss late this year (Sparring Omnibus, Mystic Boxing Commission). He hosts the poetry podcast “Assiduous Dust,” writes the weekly Incentovise column for Oddball Magazine and teaches poetry to neurodiverse individuals and autistic addicts in recovery at The Miracle Project, an autism nonprofit. Corwin’s collaborative collection A Double Meaning, with David Dephy, is currently seeking publication. He also has forthcoming collaborative poetry projects with Ellyn Maybe including Ghosts Sing into the World’s Ear (Ghost Accordion series 1st Wave, Mystic Boxing Commission). Corwin is editing and compiling Assiduous Dust: Home of the OTSCP, Vol. 1 (forthcoming April 2021, TBD) featuring 36 award-winning poets, all demonstrating a new type of found poem (OTSCP) he invented.