As a writing warm up, I wrote this text message poem. This is my first draft, so of course I'll be back obsessively revising.
prompts:
nail-biting New York sadness moss Chicago tornado purple
The Sadness of Moss
Moss is Nature's equivalent
of nail-biting
compulsive and unnecessary
insistent like a tornado twisting
into the sky
its bruise-colored scruff
twisting like a parasite until it locks
into the host
feeds and spreads
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