POEM    2012

I took this poem
a pithy little structure,
and stripped it of its flesh

I boiled each line
until it was white
and gave them to the seagulls to pick clean

Then I left the words in the sun
for five weeks
to harden and bleach...

Eventually, I strung them together
but there was no comfort
in the bones clacking

I had taken them past death

There was nothing to do but to drop
each letter in to the soup pot and add
root vegetables, silver beet, curry
a flick of salt and pepper

I stir slowly
wary of re-creating that which I have just
rendered
free of fat