not cloistered in the coop of self-absorption,

not injected with fat adjectives,

not pumped with hormonal angst,

but trotting in fields of experience,

pecking at sun-dried grains of metaphor,

lean and muscular, moving with language’s energy,

and when processed, seared on the hotbed of verbs,

blackened grill-lines of imagery,

a meal not to stuff, but to satisfy

07/16/2003

Posted on 07/16/2003
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt