ThePoetReader
CharlaXFabels
SIXTY
Poetryvine and Elm street crosses a little cul de sac called Hawthorne street in old Nuevo York in African Land. Afrika they call it now in this millennium. There is a house on the desert basin near the tree on the horizon where the Poet Reader lives. His waterfall has fish and shrim:pe in them. The natives call it smeltland and they revere the old man with white hair as if he were a god come down from sky they always get a large drink and fill all the gourds on the way to the wetlands. He reads every new submission to the internet on every webpage he reads the poetry. He is the Poetry Reader. He gets a check from the USA government and lives like an ice cube in his refrigerated palace of boredom. He has an IBM computer in his basement bigger than the rest of the floors of the house above. The T*I*M computer likes to be called MITT it's an inhouse joke between the two of them. He has 27 screens with different websites on each screen the seating is made to interchange them. He glides in slots along the wall to reach his next assignments the poems were so boring once but now so many people use the internet the place is filling up with wonderful rhymes and reasons. He always finds the Charlax ones the Fabels as he calls them he has a special screen when he arrives the CharlaX one. He calls the Mitt to see if he will make some more pink lemonade and reads the Fabel number Fifty Nine while watching four other websites come alive. He frowns and notices the sadnesses in this one poem how can that man be so amiss in reasons as to be a man without a country. He is so homeless. He left poverty behind and carries all his riches in his egYpt bag the man is so delicious in his poems and his rhymes oh MITT my friend the man is writing prose poems now he calls them Fabels just like that old Aesop made them. Yes Poetry Reader was Mitt reply. You can call me by my namme MITT why don't you ever say it. Okay Tim. AHHAHAHHAHHAHHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHHAHHA
