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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.


NaPoWriMo #1


                                 by Mark Olival-Bartley
                            The jalapeño marinara sauce?
                              Hilarious.  That scatty fit
                           sure showed me who was boss,
                                       for to emit
                                        such moss-
                                         less spree,
                                 whose fodder tore
                            a summoner's gale of glee
                    to something wicked and hard-core,
               had flushed the dun Chaucerian from me.

       That said, the brownies laced with--what a cross,
                     a pound of laxative chocolate
                         and tons of E--rushed loss
                                     as is befit
                                     for dross,
                                    whose lee,
                              a sulphured shore,
                              abuts a murky sea
            where Dantesque waves (and so much more)
               revealed what crap had lain inside of me.

                 Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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