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poetry reading

a man takes to the podium slowly. his black pants melt into his black shoes and then into the black clothes of everyone in the audience. all six people in the audience - dressed mostly in black. they're gathered in a coffee shop for open mic spoken word.

finally the speaker is ready. just as the murmur of small talk over the last poet fades this new one begins:

"don't have a picnic anywhere around me.
i chatter box about everything I see
i get all my food for free from a tree.
this might be the worlds first...
squirrel poetry."

the man pauses and leans away from the podium. he shuffles his feet nervously on stage for a moment, maybe as part of the act - it's hard to tell.

slowly the listeners begin snapping their fingers, quickening the pace until it sounds like rain falling on a tin roof. as their fingers grow raw and ache they find the words to agree quietly amongst each other about how pleasant their ears feel. the poet takes a hint and pulls himself back into the microphone to oblige his new friends with an encore.

after clearing his throat.

"i like bitches and I like butts.
i dig holes when I'm stuck in a rut.
greedy eater everything makes the cut.
perhaps the worlds first..."

"poetic mutt."

the audience - already bruised from their first reaction merely weep in their chairs. the beauty overwhelms some and turns into agony as they realize they might never feel this good again. before the listeners can react further the man walks briskly off stage.

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