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The Invention of Free Verse Poetry
All she could recall was that it had been beautiful
in fact, that was all she could say for certain:
it had been a strange thing
a very strange thing
Shooting stars, silver wounds, quick-finned fish that darts
back and forth
weaves
through and about
That was all she could recall,
but it was powerful, brighter than the sun
and the moon
more moving than a song,
or words.
And that was all -
because, well when the night settled in
breathing heavy, a fanged animal
that was all there was left
that sparked, and she knew it
And it knew her, that strange thing.
That very strange thing.
Good-bye it whispered, but no words came
from shimmering scales
and mouthless features, and that
was it.
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