impulsive prose poets

sometimes i wonder

when i drop what it is i’m doing

usually a dumbbell or you might

notice my basketball trickling

across a now quiet court where was i

right i wonder when i drop

what I’m doing and take out my phone

to type a prose poem

how older generations worked like

did they have to carry a tablet and chisel at all times or one of them fancy quill pens and ink and paper and sand to dry the ink so it doesn’t smear when impulsive prose poets of the earlier centuries were swimming shoulder to shoulder in the produce section at their trader joe’s equivalent.

musta been a bitch being a pre-smartphone prose poet or maybe they just always stayed home ‘hey thanks for the invite but genius might strike me at any time and it’s just a nightmare tryna carry around all of my supplies like bill’s ink drying sand is the worst and i don’t feel like packing up i hate packing think of it like how you never wanna poop at someone else’s house right’


‘because your bathroom is just home’

‘yeah poop shy’

‘exactly i’m prose poem shy plus social anxiety.’

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