UNDERGROUND [PLOT FATALE 07/31]
07/31 [UNDERGROUND]
Previously on this WIP:
01/31 [MORRIS ALWAYS DIES ON WEDNESDAYS]
Each poem is a gun
Loaded with blanks
Most times
A long shot
In the dark
At ghosts
Shadows from too many Saturdays
Slowly bleeding into dull nothingness
Sundays blur
Mondays fog
One-eyed Tuesdays
Target dry sentences
Wishing it were Friday
It's Wednesday now
Lengthiest day of the week
A heatwave’s never-ending tongue
Stretching beyond the dying sun
Soft egg words hard boiling
Falling off incandescent terraces
Failing to hit solid mind ground
Solid anything
Apprehending nothing
A new month
Just as empty
Morris doesn't care anymore
◽️◽️◽️
02/31 [PLOT FATALE]
Evening
The plot enters Morris’ mind as if the doors were open
They were
Takes a seat
Lights a cigarette
Blue smoke plumes up into the ghost of a story
Morris appraises the plot
Some other writers might fall for it
Morris knows better
That is not a piece of flash
It's got legs as long as a novel
A body thicker than War and Peace
This one is looking for a place to rest
Open centuries-old luggage
Spill a laundry list of characters
Rearrange Morris' marbles
A thousand-page hardcover
Paperback marriage
Morris frowns
Not interested
Opens a notebook
Screams ink onto the page
“How many times must I explain
I’m already happily married
to the muses?”
Realizes the sentence is double-edged
Sheathes all hard-boiling anger and goes out
Wearing the neon night as a trench coat
Smoke-decked and heavy
Soon to be unbuttoned
◽️◽️◽️
03/31 [STUN GUN]
Morris treads concrete
Rain smudges vision & mind
A shadowy sketch of the city
More lucid dream than scape
When it finally stops
The silence stuns Morris
Eyes see nothing moving
Ears go searching for life
Where is everyone
The noises
The voices
The rhythm of a million people
Involuntary poetry gone
Morris leans heavily
Against a streetlight
Dumbfounded wonders
“Is time over at last?”
No soul offers a clue
◽️◽️◽️
04/31 [PAINTED PAIN]
Deafening silence
Crushes the night
Life made void
Under the light
Morris thinks
“I don’t care.”
Someone has painted
Four letters still bleeding
Uneven on a blind wall
PAIN
Morris knows that ink
In and out
Upside down
Sideways
Morris keeps thinking
“I don’t care.”
A message to new convoluted plots
Storied ghosts & supercilious muses
“Stop playing games.”
Unless
Morris touches
The wet paint
Dark blood rushes
Blotches reason
Pages no longer
Muted or blank
“Go away.”
For a moment
Morris’ mind
Forgets to push
“I don’t care.”
◽️◽️◽️
05/31 [STALKER WITHIN]
06/31 [MONDAY COMETH]
ABOUT THIS PROJECT
Back in the day, July used to be a Camp NaNoWriMo month: 31 days of creative writing without the constraints of having to craft a 50K-word novel. NaNoWriMo is dead. All things die, I guess. Still, there’s no reason not to take a walk on the wild side of writing this month. With Morris.
PLOT FATALE aka A MONTH OF MORRIS (July 1 - 31, 2026) is a challenge within a challenge: Noir Poetry 365 with a specific protagonist, a writer/poet named Morris.
Who is Morris? What is Morris? 31 days to find out. Or not.
▪️▪️▪️
Disclaimer: This is a live, unrefined first draft of an ongoing narrative poetry cycle. Subject to future revisions. [Translation: I’m just having fun. Welcome to my playground.]
© 2026 C.E. NOIR. All Rights Reserved.
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