Day three. Writing the "opposite" of a poem you like. That is, rewriting it using contrary language as often as possible. I chose an oldie I've had bookmarked for a long time - this poem by Jonathan Brechner, featured in decomP many moons ago.
_________________________________________________ It disregards cruelty to create life. I've sprinted each hallway,
the letters scattered on a full-color body,
bland disorientation rough in my nose. Space is still,
a ragged smell, bitter as a candy cane.
Every bright spot is silent, each one a paper folding,
clasping its free-flowing message. The thoughts
ignore me if I scream, remain unspeaking,
frozen still like raucous snakes. I remove each one
from upon my shirt and send it away. The knowledge he granted
is false, all of it failing, thin as pleasure, to stand
apart from these ceilings. Sometimes it drinks, dark clouds descending.
At 10:30 P.M. the walls will close, the purple women
will leave me, build up each flattened floorboard,
steal vegetables from over my shoulder, their gazes lost among
the others so I may see. Even though I shy away,
even though I whisper.
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