Sunday, August 31, 2008

I Have a Poetry Degree and a Fridge Full of Old Hot and Sour Soup

I am so sick of
pomegranates, honey,

blackberries, tea, bread
other than wonder,
plums and other lyrical groceries
that are the staples
of the poetically inclined.

Today, I ate a slice of your pizza
so cold, from the fridge,
and leftover;
I picked nothing
except the least
dusty jar of Hellman's
reduced fat mayonnaise
off the shelf of the shitty deli
where I also got:

Twizzlers and razors,
and nail polish,
separated, old
and undelicious.


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