Thursday, January 26, 2012

A Request for Potted Meat

Let me put my poem in you
Open wide accept its girth
Let its length dazzle you
Squeal in delight upon measuring its depth
Breathe its odor into your fertile nostril

The crier bawls in my head
sobbing tin characters from a printing press
verbing the sins of his father into black yells

Let me put my poems in you
Let me whisper loud words
Let me stroke your feathered quill
Let me caress your smooth papery skin

An anonymous reader submitted these two lines: The crier bawls in my head; Let me put my poem in you. August 28, on my last full day as a Seattle resident was when this poem was composed.

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