It’s the old complaint becoming quizzical:
Two round loaves, once spotless,
now marred by another
castaway pigment from the artificer—
stained with blood—
pitted and striated by salt—
are less than cold fuel
for moldy kitchen grease.
While the new silken cake—
tender, weak and hollow
in many arched white layers,
glazed with perfect pink wax—
has gone way upstairs
and will be eaten
by the red satin fish
© lcmt
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DU LIEST GERADE
Welding Feldspar and Breccia
PoesieAll dirt, all stellar, all for naught. More poems about men and women by Lin Tarczynski.