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Recycled Poetry
you are the type of person
who finds poetry in the emptiness of buildings,
in the grey rain of winter,
in the plaster of a ceiling
the type of person who gathers odds and ends, like:
the stars no one sees because they’re too low in the sky,
leaves decaying at the bottom of a river,
dust motes trapped in a beam of light,
tissue boxes,
sidewalk cracks,
smeared mascara,
the dust that gathers on books no one will read again —
the type of person who will take these bits and pieces of reality,
paste them together with metaphors,
paint them with emotion,
sculpt them with meaning
the type of person who will step back
squint a bit —
and take in this miscellaneous sculpture of
bottle caps
and bright lights
and broken dreams
and call it a poem
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Poetry is a bit like art. I especially love to take random events or details and turn them into a poem — kind of like those sculptures you might see made of random recycled objects.