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|  POEM SOUP

 
  First you need a book,
that's your pot.
Then a page, your water.
Chop up some fresh words
straight from the garden. Just right,
not too green-- hard and flavourless.
Or overripe, with seed squish
all over the counter:
overused metaphors and landscapes,
roving hills and the grass is green.

Throw the mix into the blender.
Add spice, the ground up
bits of your heart.
Heat the pot, sautee the mix
until golden brown,
hold the boil.
Watch the words bob and roil---
systolic vortice perambulate.
Watch them percolate.

Then pour into a bowl.
Something for the eyes, the nose,
a hot soup that waits on the table.
These are poems. Served up
for those just come in
from the snow,
having skied a vast wilderness.


from The Wind is a Tall Man Striding
watershedBooks
2000
Copyright © Jim Slominski