convection eulogy
i don’t know what else to say.
carpet chevron, holy union
of the fist. with its mouth,
homeward, sanctified like
the rule of three in fiction.
it’s a cop
-out, tallow in the eye, sightly
water, inverted lilies, their
pewter & casings ass
to face, in redux, in
redux. i take shots in glasses much
too large. as their analog, Qoheleth
was correct, the satisfaction is
not in the bite
from the drink, but
rather seeing it as is, unmoving,
the cup made of water. the cliche of
doughnut with bullet
wounds. scantily formal, lack
of filling, Christian
cross worn like chapstick on
Chanukah. gas stove
top, anvil for branding, my hand
makes a hole where the old
skillet used to perch. parsnips
cook uneven at this
point. i’ve given up waiting
for alarms or my internal
clock. so i watch the pot.
& it boils.
