Friday, January 31, 2014


To be precise -- orange tipped in yellow, fully-open succumbing to gravity.  Akimbo.

Food?  How beautiful is butternut squash.  Or golden beets.  Or an egg yolk.  Does a poem benefit from being cheerful?  I know a poem is bereft if there is no color.  Black, of course, being the pinnacle.  As mentioned before, don't shy away from red, though.

Cook by color; write by color.

1 comment:

  1. 2. The teacher keeps insisting applied movement in an intelligent circle bonds the predetermined activity to what might have been.

    She runs with her balloon and the stranger watches.
    "Have you seen my mitre box?" he shouts at her.
    "Nothing for you," she replies. He is frightened for she is accurate at a distance.

    Humbly, he wraps his feet with the cloth left to him in Toledo and drags them to the steps of the pillar, bowing gracefully and lighting a match to the small votive candle.

    "News", SF, '86