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