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Post Psych

In by Wyatt on May 2, 2017 at 8:32 pm

I was sitting on the curb outside a freshmen dorm tallying the number of undergrads who biked by wearing helmets. Twenty-nine out of thirty zipped past with their heads unprotected. A survey I ran showed that half of them secretly wished they wore helmets. So why didn’t they do it? Psychology let me peer into our messy, beautiful human lives and test ways to make them better. Today I’m paid to meet people and weave videos from their stories. It’s very different work; yet my toolkit is the same one I developed watching students ride by with naked heads.

for a poet in a city (ii)

In by Bunc on January 17, 2017 at 11:38 pm

what joy to hold another golden
plume, forevermore,
of dust that keeps the vernal gust
enamored of his chore

yet bittersweet to only meet
the rose from which it soared,
with thanks unto her absence
four-and-ninety years before

the seasons thence securely fenced
her graceful bloom away,
in sacred woods of sisterhood
that keep storm-winds at bay

and so he bows in kind to her
who winsomely eludes;
a lowly air to kiss the glow
between their solitudes

a mist and not a tempest
overlays the zephyr’s word,
in prayer that she forgive his song
its wanting to be heard

for a poet in a city (i)

In by Bunc on January 17, 2017 at 5:24 pm

alike the soils allowing seeds
to rise unto the stars,
pretend you’ll let this drifter spend
tonight between your bars

i humbly found you underground
before today was through,
where into throngs of barren songs
they tried to bury you

but sending two resplendent plumes
of golden-dusted breeze,
[these stanzas seek to say] you sparked
a certain soul to sneeze

and should these beaded couplets fall
beneath their lofty worth,
my petrichor regret would pour
asunder from the earth

but don’t coerce yourself to nurse
these saplings wrought from clay;
this boy could fall in love another
hundred times today