National Poetry Month

1 Apr

It’s that time when rhyme
sublime or not —
cold, tepid, or hot —
is spilled upon the page and blotted
dry
with no reason as to how or why
the words cascade,
or made to drip
one
syllable
at
a
time —
the rhymes must flow,
must go —
and you and I both know
the reason why:
it’s April!

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