micro poetry. question.

In the fog of half-sleep in traffic on the commuter bus this morning, a question popped into my head that seemed to, at the same time, both stand alone in a satisfied cloak of mystery, and suggest the beginning and/or end of an epic story…

under what name

under what name?

I started wondering and asking myself even more questions, and dozens of stories started to unfold. What stories do you hear?

I would love to read your own thoughts, comments, and questions in response to this question…please share below for a communal art/poetry/story-telling project…..


2 responses to “micro poetry. question.

  1. When I got there, I couldn’t remember the name. I stood there just holding the package. I knew it was the right house. I knew it was for him. So I wrote, “To the one I love.” And leaned it against the door.

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