Tonight's Poet Corner: Bad Poet, Worse Chef
Bad Poet, Worse Chef
by Belinda Roddie
My brain's baked; my hands
are wrung. I can't right wrongs,
but I can write them. The sun
makes meat out of my mental
state, string beans from string
theory. I have cooked my words
and marinated them, but they
still have no obvious taste.
by Belinda Roddie
My brain's baked; my hands
are wrung. I can't right wrongs,
but I can write them. The sun
makes meat out of my mental
state, string beans from string
theory. I have cooked my words
and marinated them, but they
still have no obvious taste.
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