Final: Thanks for the memories folks. While not always showing the best of us, this was a great shared experience, i think.
I was blown away by the achievement of the last editable poem. I think the end product that was created was something truly special. While I think it would be foolish to attempt to recreate an experience like that, I am a fool and I loved watching it grow and shift in my feed. I would love to see one grow again.
Therefore, I messaged thenewgreen and asked if I could steal their idea wholesale. they agreed, and so I copy/paste now:
Noise, death, and work. Action, death, and work. Windows shrink like old workers. Walk slowly like a misty worker.
I've added all of the previous editors here. anyone else is more than welcome to join. I have no expectations for how this attempt will really go (though of course I would love it to succeed), so allow your creativity to flow free of expectations.
Close your eyes. This life is tiresome, and hurled against the wind, it burns. The scalded flesh reveals your figure, And you become un-wounded. Bones exposed through burning facade. I could work all day and never move an inch closer to you. I'm a weathervane pointing beyond the storm, into the blue. I polished windows until I didn't like their bright new veneers. False rooster, rubber rocket, listen to Roethke: go away, somewhere you think you need to go. Foothills of hysteria. You'd expect the dead man's curve: xerox zero Rosie, but it's bowties and trumpet tubing from here on out. Little ram-shackled summer-homes baking together like cookies, every one a family. Under the words that were omitted lie the noise, work, and death Missing workers walk slowly, stop to take each breath. Under the words that were deleted I sit here with the few Trying not be defeated I move an inch closer to you. Cut me down a tree, Dragged it to the sea. Made me clearly see How much you mean to me.