Service notice: this is the last day of my book being free.
Can I be born in a poem? Can I die in a poem? Can I fornicate and throw up? Can I kill something and get away with it? Can I be a god in a poem? Can I cannabalise a poem? Can I strike a pose and be smitten? Can I maim someone and get away with it? Can I reproduce in a poem? Can I arrest said poem? Can I call you Al and kick ass? Can I bake your cake and get away with it? Can I be born in your poem? Can I stay in your poem? Can I dance and breathe and laugh out loud? I like your style and I want to get away with it.
I didn’t really use the prompt on repetitive lines that napowrimo.net provided on day something, but today it creeped in. Which makes me off prompt for today, when we are suggested to write “a poem suited to, or written for, a particular occasion.”
I’ve spent almost an hour today looking for this picture on The Met. I have wanted to use it since the beginning of this month, but could never find or write a poem that went with it. I’ve combined it with today’s poem to celebrate the occasion that I DID find it, after I’d given up already.