Poetry

Cooking Words

3 December 2019

I’m stuck in here, this kitchen

with modern equipment, this electrical appliance

peeling clauses, cutting 

verbs, articles and nouns, mixing 

with adjectives and adverbs, wrapping

in tinfoil.

 

Checking my private recipe: Codeine, Klonopin, Psilocybin…

my face glittering, my eyes shivering, my mind

modifying the present, this present

has been the future and will be the past…

 

Unwrapping the tinfoil, Oops, the intonation of a sentence 

is overcooked; the content of a sentence is 

meaningless, the fluency of a sentence 

is stuck in here, in my tongue: rootless, useless;

and still I cook, cook, cook my words

to articulate this unpresentable eloquence.

 

I know the word is tasteless, but sometimes I take some Xanax 

so I overdo a ‘s’, so I become a smith, 

the word a malleable substance, hammering 

out a present progressive tense.

 

How’s the taste? You ask me. 

I spit the word out: 

Salty.


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