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!
2/25
this morning the sky
was shouting your name
I have no reason
why
IOS (cont)
ReplyDeleteDisastrous 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