Poets are cows
Scattered on fields of language
Morning to evening they
Tear up juicy stalks of words
Worn molars chewing out chlorophyll
Defining, refining, agonizing
They need four compartments to
Ferment, ruminate, regurgitate
Language is imbued in their flesh
So we cut them open for our consumption
Today my words were stuck in my throat
A stubborn piece of steak, refusing to fall or rise
Many tried the Heimlich, but
I only succeeded in choking harder
Maybe by ingesting other poets I
I was going to ask if you had finished the poem as it is awesome.
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It is finished 🙂
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I thought so, and totally got the end. Awesome. Just wanted to let you know it’s fabulous.
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Thank you! you’re too kind.
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