Regret is for suckers, she said,
and I knew right then and there that
had to be the first line to a poem.
But where would that poem go?
Where would this poem go?
What twisted pathways would my words walk along,
tip-toeing across rope-bridge chasms
of false-starts, false-endings,
which I've heard from a little bird
named Talyor Mali are a problem
in slam poems...
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i'd love to hang out and get a cup of coffee or something
-The Marquis