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Who Says Poetry Makes Nothing Happen?
by David Alpaugh

Back when open readings were held in caves
(before Dante saw Beatrice; Petrarch, Laura)
a lusty rhapsode sang to one of many cave girls
gathered round him on the cold rock floor:

"Your lips are like

                          Roses…
                                        Cherries...

                                                          Wine..."

A few days later LIPSTICK was invented.






 

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