Devour the desire,
breathe light and drink smoke --
Only naked can you eat poetry.
Seemingly I'm incapable of writing frig poetry without a pair of scissors, some punctuation, and a roll of two-sided tape; is that cheating? I don't care, it's my bad frig poem and I can make up the words as I go along. I am SO buying some more kits.
How about a real poem now? Over at Poets.org, the poem of the day is written by an Indiana poet, David Dodd Lee, and we must give a shout-out to him. Read 'Suffering the Unattainable' and maybe you'll love the lines as much as me:
The oak pitched around / like a ship’s mast, or I was no longer alive; perhaps I was yet / to be / all over again, though I kept recalling your name. The verdurous roots.
How appropriate is it that Weird Al Yankovic releases a video about tin foil, like you use in a REFRIGERATOR?! It's like he's speaking to me this week, first grammar and now leftovers. In the frig.
It's cold again tonight. Which means Bon Iver, again. At the beach.
Only hold till your coffee warms / But don't hurry and speed / Once a time put a tongue in your ear on the beach / And you clutched clinging heels