Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Word Salad in Flight

Constance, my ersatz angel
I raided the cookie jar, only to find
you had stuffed it with a plenitude of verbal grotesqueries!

The poems I've written since
have been convoluted, like monstrous pretzels.
A poem can only seat so many words
and mine are all overbooked.

Every flight is full on Air Constance
where lunch is word salad, served
in a big glass bowl.

-- another word salad poem, obviously
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

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