Everything. Is everything personal included in a poem?

Even the most minimal and objective? (Narrative aside.)


And if this were a meal offered at its most minimal, would each ingredient be stridently defined and cognizant of boundary? Make a soup from leftovers. And contemplate. Boundaries waffle into everything.

Brittle. Is poetry brittle?

To some ears, yes. To some eyes, yes. No others not in the aggregate.

What's askew about the brittle? A well-earned facade of age. The break (as in line) is not un-welcomed.

And what of poetry in the digital age -- visual-poems, etal? Where the fissures?

Brittle food? Candied apples haven't crossed my mind (or tongue) in decades. Won't in the near future, either.

Perhaps. Perhaps, the poem started out as a to-do list?

Words inform and siren. Comfort as only a list can. Complete the task and a strike a line through the word. Editing, I suppose. The earlier version, visible.

List poems, of course.


Perhaps, a late lunch with a savory list of ingredients. Something unexpected. Peach pizza, perhaps.

Eggplant. Can a word so strange (in its parts) spawn a poem?

In the non-aggregate, not so strange, rather common & comfy. Egg & plant. In the aggregate, what would come to something so purple. '

The essence of a poem, I'd say.

Roasted eggplant -- nothing finer. Then again, an egg, boiled is a mansion.

Threads. What are threads in a poem?

The invisible mechanism to fasten words to a page. Or to a screen. Or is it more akin to the successive meanings in an email and/or CP (cell phone) conversation. Or the lack of meaning, thereof.


What is thready food? Celery. Of course, I've not come upon a cookbook which celebrates celery.
For that matter, doesn't seem that celery is too often highlighted in poetry. Is that your experience?

Crisp. What makes a poem crisp?

The line? Image? Voice? Seasonal ripeness?



About food, it's the ripe. Same with cook. May she be mixing/blending the ripest of poems. May she be smiling.

Felt. Is there a quality of felt in a poem in which we return & return