Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Egg. What eggs on a poem?

The poet? The reader?

For the cook, it's the eater. And the bounty of season. Can you eat a poem. Most certainly.

1 comment:

  1. circular absolutes trying on a
    slip

    & rosy cheeks shimmer
    after the walk home

    bells need to get fixed
    3 minutes is all

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