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The Poetry Reading MAG
i sit in a room
smelling of over-smoked coffee
and cigarettes gone cold
listening to overthrown metaphors
and images i didn't catch
but maybe no one caught them
'cause the toss was pretty bad
and the poor overworked similes
sweatingstrainedweary
contemplating a strike from this poet's union
this writer's sweatshop
the smell of the coffee sounding stressed
losing its fight with fallen syllables
the one beside me holding nothing
but sitting with hands always full
and he smells like broken poetry
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