Write a modern sentence.
Instead of “she floats mostly through the gates of life,”
say “nothing bites her but the front door.”
You will have to believe that she is asking for it.
She keeps going in the same way.
Toss old synecdoche.
Instead of “Hello, Old Sports and Blue Hairs,”
say “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
You can keep your v-shaped brow.
At this point, everyone keeps an extra in their pocket.
Send words through less tended landscapes.
Instead of “he hums with bees, scent of mirepoix wafting,”
say “that’s an ill-diced holy trinity for a Sunday!”
Do not burn towards a recipe any longer.
Bubble away in the bone until done.
A Stew I want to run away from and consume at the same time. Some hairy leg thrown in with monkeypox.
(Clooney in Capronis runs away from Stu, too)
you have a ill-conceived conscience-repository of verbs mixed with tension, and dashes of color bands suiting me
i like everything about this poem. the format, not that but this, is more challenging than you make it seem. boil and simmer intensely.
I love everything about this! Especially “that’s an ill-diced holy trinity for a Sunday!”