Niedecker Cento

HOLLY CUELLO
Word Count: 304

I married
A still state hard
Fog-thick morning
(they keep their trees away from us)
Moon on rippled.

Heart, be still.
The frost
Close to the heart
On the minnow bucket
With me.

Nothing worth noting
We can’t afford it. Selfish of her
Eager to remain
In this Eternal Category’s
Pride.

Now hide
To ache
As my absent father’s distrait wife
Hotly cared
In heaven’s name what other.


They’ve lose their leaves
Since she was young
In the leaves and on water
Land of rigmarole
Breaks my hand


When the market raced down to a dime a pound
He’d say: all my life I saved
Then left everything
For a three half-penny fare
Till he lost his spring and fall

But eat your beef-ounce from a doll’s platter
Gave to the poor tho he himself
And as I left a sucker jumped me
No modesty anymore
To probe the river

You spoke your poem
With another slave
I sit in my own house
I fear this war
No matter where you are

Sure they drink
To sense
And hum
Or care a kite
On one leg in the weeds.

She carried books
With brilliance
Before dropping off
Then thousand women
Across the sky

You ought to put forth
All body
Downstream
Tonight I beseech
Let’s take it in

Lisp and wisp
In my favor
Bends to inspect
In this dark
A man.

In sphagnum moss
And tooth enamel
You bowed
As tho to fly
Ahead – home town.