The Found Poets

I'm outside this world, alien breathing fire unfurled. I leave my mark, - if you get my point! Not lost, a memory to be found, games of poetry underground. Creating art, - dramatist joint! If you write poetry with quill, accepting your request, time will, tell rhyme the cost is well. Three five seven, as if haiku, show roots planes of true. A friend in spaces, - fabrics minds anew! One more for correct placement, - swirled!