Not a poet poem 1


Where shall we put those never chosen stories?

One by one by one.

Break up the pieces

start again.

Literary Lego.


Shall we dress like Mary Magdalene?

Shout words

from a non-existent town square.

Starbucks as fountain.


Dig a grave

throw them in

wait for their resurrection.


Light a fire.

Fake cagey arsonist persona,

walk nonchalantly impossible

down that back lane.


Stories like sandcastles

gulped back the day after.

Salty sea tongue licking its gritty arms.


Maybe we’ll just dole them out

like medicine

500 words at a time

on our own blogs

to anyone who cares to read them.


Take two aspirins, orate three paragraphs

Call ourselves each morning.

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