slowly draw the cloth out of your throat and over your eyes
by Adam G.
experiments with the neti pot have led
closer to senses than solutions
hypertonicity may be more effective
in relieving syndromes characterized by
dried mucus caked into upper respiratory cavities
crummy lung volume
in comparison to previous measurements
uncontrollable wiping of the nose with the sleeve
sniveling, wretchedness, intemperance
some of these symptoms may be relived by
exercises familiar to those versed in
circular breathing
employing circular logic
calculating elliptic orbits
in the case of impeded flow
note that sutra neti may
remove some minor blockages
.
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MB
by Carla
soured homey slightly crossed eyes dwelling in a place,
parameters felt but not seen crummy fault lines in fonzies face
hollow sleeves hover between cakes and precise crabbily cobbled notes
nothing new netty pot nothing new
.
.
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Gifted!
by Erika
The neti pot you gave me for Christmas
is caked in mucous.
I wipe it with the sleeve of my anorak
and leave you a note on wax paper
next to the snot pot:
“Thanks for all the crummy dreams.”
.
.
.
comfort extender
by Evelyn
the need for a neti pot is comforting because it’s optimistic
that’s optimistic with ice cream caked around it
and like a hip’s hump of flesh
and the negative part of thought/not thought
cross-sectioning a hip is explanatory
and not like pulling on a sleeve to get what you want
from the parent conduit
every parent should promise never to die in a note
that leaves everyone with something crummy to read
something adult
like the word ‘intersection’
.
.
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Something Happened on the Hillside
by Stephanie
your crummy little note scribbled on the back of a receipt,
which fell from the wormy hand poking from the end of my sleeve,
is drifting across the open plains,
majestically brushing the bark of elm,
becoming caked in the dung of elk,
and finally disbursing its pulp like snowflakes in the salty water
of the pond from which I scoop sparkling water for my neti pot.
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The fucking plague
by Alexis
My house is a symphony of sickness
Not even a netti pot built for giants can clear these caked pipes
I shamed by my contagious nature,
and forced to wear a note on my sleeve reading C
I should have gotten the flu shot.
.
.
.
untitled
by Adam Lee
crummy sleeve of the world
slips away
gently
indulging in the netti pot
of the mind
past memories caking my thoughts
break suddenly free
i should leave a note before
i am too far
gone
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