A dead girl joked
that she'd made but enough of herself
to spread only on a piece of toast
to be carried
butlered
to Attila the Hun as a peace offering
which
being forthwith rejected
wound up
thrown out with the trash
which trash was then burned for heat
to boil water
to bake potatoes
Well, I said, were they good potatoes?
3 comments:
This is one of my favorites of yours. Your stuff always makes me think. You're good, Jesse.
Do you feel that life rolls along in the way that the words in this piece move? I mean, do most people unconsciously fall--or are pushed--to unimpressive conclusions?
I don't know if that makes sense. I was sort of caught up in something about your thought.
what? The imagery is awesome-I guess....... well there is strong imagery and certainly a whole lotta imagination going on in this poem! Love it Jesse.
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