Pouring, Pouring Out

I’ve written repeatedly poetry is not my go-to form and still they come unbidden.

Let me know what you think.


Pouring, Pouring Out

 
Bright Light.
She couldn’t get over how bright.
Not painful, just amazing.
She remembered some movie, some furry little thing shouting “Bright Light! Bright Light!”
Was that a Furbie? A troll? A little shit? Some kind of televidic excrement?
Didn’t matter.
But this light.
Where was she?
She couldn’t remember.
What was the last thing she could remember?
She laughed.


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