As I sit here at the laptop, dreaming up the details of words, having finished a set of flash fiction, my mind wanders anew. Never fails. While you wander about this fine day, I hope you'll take in these pieces of short poetry I concocted.
One world, not enough
Stories are flocks of mist birds
Their number unknown
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Page after dark page
Confronts a bleary author
Digital ink stains
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Who are these voices?
Five million minds shoved in one
More and more and more
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Am I the story?
Product of another's thought
Whose reality?
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Tales, uncountable
As the total of the Dead
The Sea seems shallow