Poetry - An Exchange

Poetry evaporates
in the urban summer
heat of April.
- Alaka

I drip dollops of
poetry, as torrid walls emit heat
while cool breeze wafts in.
- Max

poetry congeals
inside a cool head.
- Max

Spring joy or deadly
summer heat, poetry - the
pervert - thrives in both.
- me

Spring butterflies make
for good poems. Summer kills,
making more poems.
- me

All poets are not
perverts while poetry may
just be abnormal...
- Max

Poetry is like
a fungus - living off the
living, and the dead.
- me

Poems live under my
breath, shining a sepulchral
light on my dead dreams.
- Max

Poems scurry into
burrows, nooks and crevices.
The sun blazes.
- Alaka

The parasitic
muse feeds on emotion.
Spores take root in pain.
- Alaka


Ozymandias said…
From Max by SMS:
Poetry is like a cocktail of phoenix blood pounded with Durga's prowess, slushed with Shiva's destruction n laced with Florence Nightingale's spirit of humanity.

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