for Ruth
As a poet, physical memory
awakens in me after taking
my pills: I still need the flaky,
sensual, crunchy, & realize
even a poet can enjoy eating
breakfast: so I fill a yellow
Tupperware bowl with flakes
of raisin bran & pour chocolate
soy-milk over them, spooning*
(30 MAR 11, Santa Clara CA)v4 .
PS * as an action-poem, it ends mid-spoonful, stuffing my mouth, unable to speak understandably
1 comment:
The P*et Bre@ks (his) W1nd
inaction poem
He smiles—
high-fiber flakes, says Dr. Oz
will do him good, perhaps will cleanse
his arteries, which thru the lens
look bleak: but then the claws
of CH4 take in their grip
the fest’ring bowel—appalled, he gasps
as deep inside the rumbling rasps,
distends the cheeks with awesome rip
--he sighs.
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