Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Abalone. Is poetry as treacherous to harvest as abalone?

An activity for the fit. For the adventuresome. Mediating over the eating of. Not over the wrenching from rock. How do you harvest your poems – land or sea? Air?


Back to meal. Pound abalone thin. Quick sauté. Less is more.

FYI: yesterday was Bev’s birthday.

1 comment:

  1. spent fuel

    the righteous fissure
    of a fantastic eon
    all botched and manhandled

    not like the hidings in a creek
    or rock or seasawn old wreck
    not like her getting off a bus

    in the middle of rain

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