Crisscrossing checkered emotions
are slopping about
in leftover dream thoughts from the past
Poetry is born of a gumbo
of thought process
emoting
into a metamorphacized product
that left untampered
might even
be construed as art.
That could be a disaster
to think I’m a poet
but
vanity is humanity
so I’ll indulge
in these subtle pleasures.
Gumbo
I was writing about gumbo the other day. Good image. "left untampered" hit home. I'v been tampering since May :D slc
Hope you made some, too.
Hope you made some, too. That's just good eating.