“testy pony,” by zachary schomburg, read by djb

I normally don’t like what is often called prose poetry. I admit that I don’t really get it. For me poetry (aside from the requirements of beauty, excellence and a sense of reaching for something true) has always been in the line. But this poem feels like a poem to me, despite it’s complete lack of any form that to me resembles poetry. It was the poem of the day one day last week on the email list…



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