Open Mic

In their notebooks,
their phones,
their tablets,
was their Word—
their prayer,
their hymn,
their song,
their story,
their chant,
their rant,
their spell,
their babble,
their streams of
conscious thought—
made Flesh
with their voice.

The Poetry Chapel
was dim-lit,
glass stains
on the tables,
where the mass baptism
of brains thirsty
for the communion
of secular verse
came to get drunk.

They were creators
as well as consumers;
they wrote,
they spoke,
and audience
and poet were

One thought on “Open Mic

  1. Pingback: Summer Writing Mini-Workshop: Writing Truths | Sarah Lea Stories

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