Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Eggplant. Can a word so strange (in its parts) spawn a poem?

In the non-aggregate, not so strange, rather common & comfy. Egg & plant. In the aggregate, what would come to something so purple. '

The essence of a poem, I'd say.

Roasted eggplant -- nothing finer. Then again, an egg, boiled is a mansion.

1 comment:

  1. Faded One in Frame

    The (mansion) knows
    exhausting twists things take--
    the awful wandering around of the bored!

    Disenchanted children taking it all too lightly

    seeing a piano player in the midst of his music

    Picture in the distance a long and graceful wind
    bequest the solemn hills

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