Poem: “Some Poems”

Some Poems

Some poems are custard,
simple, slipping
down the throat.
Some are a sip of strong tea,
a swallow of rum.
Some are hard bone
to scrape the teeth against,
marrow you can scent but never
break to taste.
Some are gristle and fat,
sit uneasy, questioning.
Some are delicate meals
served in a single bite.
Some look good — a spray
of garnish, a drizzle of sauce —
but taste like air.
Some are stones
to suck on, just to wet
the mouth.
Some are stones to swallow.

 

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