Mar. 30th, 2011

Fast

Mar. 30th, 2011 01:13 pm
aliaspseudonym: (Default)
After a few weeks' fasting the poet
looks at his papers & wonders how poisonous
his inky scrawl has made them:
lots poisonous? or only a little?
If a little he might risk it --
as a child he ate such things, after all merely pulped wood,
Surely having some little value.
foodwise he means
& at least they would be filling.


I should probably post something that isn't a poem here at some point. >.>
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