Note: The Plorkology crew lived with the words of these 41 amazing authors for months, and, inevitably, they found themselves drawn to different lines, phrases and pieces. When it was time to plan the launch party, the team wanted to do something that would showcase all the writers and their work. At most launch parties, the expected convention is a reading by the author(s). But Plorkology isn’t your average book, and ours wasn’t your average launch party. So, instead, the publishers chose the lines they loved most and created an entirely new, Plork-y cento (a type of “found” poem) for the occasion. Then, the faculty of the MFA program performed that newly created poem at the launch party.
Plorkology: A Mashup
Orchestrated by the Plorkology Publishing Crew
I didn’t want to feel the heaviness of that box.
I can’t name it, but I feel certain it can name me.
With the five hundredth telemarketing call, I snapped.
During the day, I kept the moon chart tucked in my back pocket.
You found the recipe for caramel in a sidebar to an online relationship quiz.
I let the 12-year-old pregnant girl braid my hair yesterday, and she seemed okay
How could we be bound to that which never was?
On warm summer nights, we’d carry bedding up to the roof
and sleep under the stars.
I’ve seen you in your finest party dress,
and I’ve known you passed out on a toilet
with your jeans around your ankles
wearing an apron of vomit, and still, I love you.
oh star i cry not for our endings but that we must
He stops the car in front of the hotel
where her finger was shut in the window.
Did I mention the Gardener?
When he started writing
equations on napkins, I put my hand on his.
I expressed incredulity about the possibility
of dying from daydreams.
On my planet, we all suffer from different diseases.
Mother Earth is a sexual object.
I never thought a shin could be so sexy
before I started going to Catholic school.
how could this principle apply equally
to me and the schoolyard swing?
Finally she makes her way to bed.
As the anthem approaches,
every hand in the room stabs skyward.
“Why do you say the noise disturbs you?
Is it not you who are disturbing the noise?”
All at once, the morning at my window . . .
such lies make my bones go honey
She meets them, enemy three,
she cheeses them, then sweets them
The tips of his fingers are calloused, and they rub
against mine like sandpaper
have you ever seen a palm tree uprooted?
Wouldn’t it be nice to have a friend
that was born holding a starfish?
Curling hand, reach for what my chewed-off fingernails
have hid under this page for too long.
Then, she scooped me up and dashed
back to the safety of the house.
I didn’t ask for the moon or the windy sky.
I’d paint extra eyes if you’ll finally
decide to want me as a lady
We never call police unless we need
reports for insurance purposes.
like the rolling hills, while your voice and city are flat,
What does it feel like to float outside of yourself
I grab a fork and dig in.
mountains lean to talk to you, rivers reverse,
ice cream blooms, rabbits curtsy
The moment they took you, all the pain rushed up
got caught in my teeth
and we hug, tentatively,
warmth right, even in heat
The fact that something that large and alive can come
out of another human being is quite impressive.
It was November when my grandmother died.
The last time I saw her was in summer,
the morning we left for home.
I wonder how many carcasses proliferate family trees?