no prose november!

the challenge

good question, cardboard.
hey guys! we are doing something fun to commemorate the shave-less month of mustache - a poetry dare ("how rare!" - laurel). our aim is to throw down some stoopid phat rhymes every day of the month: poems with class and rush and candor; poems that never under any circumstances incorporate the phrase "stoopid phat."

and now you can join us: write some sick poems, and share alike with a community of amateur artists. just drop somebody a line, and we'll add you to the facebook page.

unsure about this whole thing? follow along with megan, jordan and me, for starters!

poem, day #1

make believe
i want to hear about the first adam and
the first
they were naked in the garden
did they ever want to leave

 i want to know
when the cold comes in
the virus hides the sun
and my nose tries to run
(down my cheek)

in the wake of early morning,
in the dusk the that settles slow
there's this story that you told me
it's the only one i know
can it be?

in other news, this group is no-shaving for yes-charities (and so much more!)

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