The New New Sentence Revisited
Kitchen Etudes
Ask not for whom the dishwasher hums: it hums for thee. Three eggs thrown down the garbage disposal. Fresh baked cookies, no yolks, just white white whites. Meringue of soup like quantum foam at the mouth of the edge of perception. All rise. Time to go. Between a rock salt and a hardened space. Courage to fill the brine to brim. Shrimp thawing in the sink, cocktail sauce on the condiment shelf life of chocolate chip cookies. Sustain oh sustain this pour for all the time it takes a hand to tip a full bag of sugar and pour it into the moth-proof air-tight sealed-lip jar on the white counter beside the blond cabinet panel door under the lip of the track lighting switched on and burning to keep away the dark. And overfill overflow spill spill splash onto the carpeted floor. And stop.
Ask not for whom the dishwasher hums: it hums for thee. Three eggs thrown down the garbage disposal. Fresh baked cookies, no yolks, just white white whites. Meringue of soup like quantum foam at the mouth of the edge of perception. All rise. Time to go. Between a rock salt and a hardened space. Courage to fill the brine to brim. Shrimp thawing in the sink, cocktail sauce on the condiment shelf life of chocolate chip cookies. Sustain oh sustain this pour for all the time it takes a hand to tip a full bag of sugar and pour it into the moth-proof air-tight sealed-lip jar on the white counter beside the blond cabinet panel door under the lip of the track lighting switched on and burning to keep away the dark. And overfill overflow spill spill splash onto the carpeted floor. And stop.
Labels: poem
posted by Art Durkee at 10:56 PM
2 Comments:
Have you noticed how the lexis of kitchens soon begins to sound like the language of sex?
Oh my yes indeed. Food and sex have always overlapped. Which is probably a good thing. The French certainly think so, of course.
Post a Comment
<< Home