An Internal Ping-Pong Match

A poem takes time.

Less time than a story.

And less time than two stories,

Unless the first story was a long one,

and the later two were brief.

A poem takes less time to write than a novella,

unless the poem is an epic poem, but let’s be honest,

Nobody is writing epic poems these days.

A novella usually takes less time than a novel,

even though the word itself is slightly longer.


A poem takes…or does a poem give?

A poem assists.

A poem is a point guard

Spotting an open man flashing along the sideline.


We are in transition.

We are in the open floor.

We are sharing.

We are cooking.

We are preparing.

We are cautiously optimistic.

The pass hangs in the air…

An outlet

From the rest of this life.

There was not time for this poem.

No, there wasn’t.

It will not be printed in a book.

It’s existence, like that pass, will never be verified.

Like so many other poems,

So many other stories, novellas, and novels.

That no one will ever catch.

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2 thoughts on “An Internal Ping-Pong Match

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