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Poetry has a way of hiding
Itself in a dried up riverbed.
Inspiration of nothingness.
Words at tongue’s tip,
Can’t quite grasp…
And then all of a sudden,
Words flow like the mighty Amazon
During the wettest season,
Tumbling over each other
In their rush to be writ upon the page.
Feast or famine,
All or nothing.
Someday,
I'd like to,
Write,
A poem where,
Every,
Line is written,
By,
A different poet.
I think it'd be a cool thing to try out. Let me know if you guys are interested.
If you would like to participate, write up a line for the poem and email it to me at hardisonabbott@gmail.com. Make sure to include your name or pen name in the email that way I can credit you. I will arrange the lines in a way that makes sense to read.
Thanks guys.
Name of the poem is pending if you guys have ideas let me know, please forward this to anyone who you'd think would be interested, I want to make this a real thing.

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