What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.
-- Soren Kierkegaard
Here is today's food poem - neither menacing nor disturbing. I wonder if they named their kid Smuckers?
Sunday morning anticipatter
and paints
some names
on our almost-baby
dip dipping a fingertip
in the jar of strawberry
preserves on the tray
next to our bed.
Her belly mountain of us
accommodates several
and several are expunged –
thinking while licking
I trace the rubrics
with my tongue and
kiss away her ripe ideas.
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