Poets

Poets

Poets get an email.
Poets respond to said email.
Poets are asked can they make that date.
Poets confirm that they can.
Poets book a plane ticket and hotel bundle with Travelocity.
Poets pack a suitcase.
Poets order an Uber.
Poets go through security.
Poets sit in the boarding area, reading other poets’ feeds.
Poets prefer the window seat.

Poets used to leave the party to look at the stars.
Poets used to unbutton their shirts before the firing squad.
Poets used to drown with a copy of a friend’s book in their coat pockets.
Poets used to fall asleep at their desks, wrists blurred blue with ink.
Poets used to write letters to other poets.
Poets used to challenge other poets to duels.
Poets used to have to periodically check themselves in.
Poets used to write poems instead of project books.
Poets used to sing their poems on their knees before the grim queen.
Poets used to look at the moon and cry-smile.

Poets land in Kansas City.
Poets wait for their luggage with other poets.
Poets hug poets they’ll talk shit about later to other poets.
Poets share an Uber downtown.
Poets check in.
Poets get something to eat and ask for the receipt.
Poets knight themselves with lanyards.
Poets sidle up to editors at the hotel bar.
Poets drink but not too much.
Poets say they’re working on something.