With simple means
and using your own personal measurements,
determine a height you cannot reach
and a width you cannot walk.
Call loudly for help if you are alone,
and keep on calling.
This is a found poem I made using text from the Orienteering section of the Boyscout Handbook. It once won me a boozy prize.
In every language, words die. Sometimes this is because the things they named no longer exist, but often it's because ... just because. Because things change, and over time tired old words sputter out and vibrant new ones get born. Many of these words were wonderful, of course—funny, pretty, perfect. I wrote poems about 26 dead words of English, one for each letter of the alphabet and called the collection Obsolete. My friend Noah designed the book into a beautiful little art object, and Taylor who runs Parcell Press printed it in an edition of 500. In April of 2011 I sold the last copy. If I decide to have it printed again I'll put it up for sale on my etsy shop.