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The poets came out tonight.
They had oceans in their pockets,
and music in the bottoms of their shoes.
We watched them
whispering to the ink on their hands--
soft sounds of fevered pleading--
until their lips were black with love
and language dripped from their shaking fingers,
into the eyes of the world.
Fridge poem #150!!!
Confession: I cheated.
This poem actually emerged a couple weeks back, and when I saw it, I thought: "You look shiny and rainbow-colored like my last two benchmark poems." I had an inkling that I should save it for the 150-mark celebration. Apparently, my subconscious knew that I would be fighting for my life against the Deadline Apocalypse, and that if I didn't save it, we'd have nothing to celebrate with but a particularly bad Bad On Purpose poem.
Hooray for happy accidents. And hooray for the Project not being dead yet, despite all odds!
Past benchmark poems:
Deadline Apocalypse countdown: 2 days.........
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