A buncha poets was there.
Me, I don't consider myself a poet, but I can scratch something out that sorta kinda almost is a poem.
Anyhoo, we all did something like a chain poem. The first person would write a sentence, fold the paper over, just showing the last word of the sentence. So no one knows what was written before, except for that last word.
The next person had to start their sentence with that word. Then they'd hide their sentence, leaving just that last word visible, and so on.
I was the last person in the chain.
Here's the poem:
EXQUISITE CORPSE: APRIL 8TH, 2017
Political standing aside, our hero grasps to his lost shred of
humanity is over there in a box so get the
car possessed by evil demons bent on eating souls of
children of the sun are crying for
water dances, tumbles, and dives into cracks, onto
pavement rough, jagged shards buried in
my dog loves to chase prisms on the
carpet. pressed with cautious, furtive
tread the threadbare runners
lightly fell the cinders from the bonfire celebrating the
end of it
What's in pink is my contribution.