Letter to Hemingway - National Poetry Day

My dearest Hemingway,

You are now in shock.

There is a man chasing you
within the darkest flock,
creeping quietly,
in your
quiet block.

Distant is her flowing skirt
prancing in the wind.

Distant is the crushing whiskey
in the gleaming sun.

“The sun
rising;
nevermore,”

Dearest Papa,
swim in your moveable feast
where she waits for you.
In the streets of Paris along
“Le moderniste.”

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