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institute Sesquiotic



Kitchen poem

this is a poem for you as you
sit in the air in your kitchen
this is a poem for your eggplants and
green peppers sliced with the same knife
that once caressed your tender wrists I write
with longing for the taste of steel
a poem for the light that is now
beneath you as you float past the
spice rack that holds your passions carefully bottled
you have cut free from all gravity
as your plaintive beets bleed in your place
you have cut loose from me I
can only watch as vegetables are burning longing
for the cold caress that cuts all
living from the never lived and lost this
is a poem for you as you
hover over cold elements and I am burning
at long last on the forgotten floor


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