Saturday, February 25, 2017

Breakfast is meant to be left

over.  As in leftovers.  Vibrant leftovers.  And unexpected so the eyes taste color and the mouth sees the poem.  Look, look -- that haiku-like, star-like poem in the center of golden beets, cherry tomatoes, avocado, walnuts.  And what you don't clearly see -- a sea of cooked black rice.  What could be more forbidden?  More delicious?  Well, this morning's sunrise!

this morning the sky
was shouting your name
I have no reason

1 comment:

  1. IOS (cont)

    Disastrous interludes on the lofty moor
    recall the time when small pastel crayons
    scattered around the room were what mattered most--
    looking at pictures of the cousins
    behind the faces a peril of twins
    tossed into the deep blue sea but bobbing back
    always returning unannounced
    for hot dogs and beer