Sunday, July 19, 2009

Sloshing Around the Soup Kitchen

My cauldron is your crucible,
a hot pot of burnt porridge
dished up in the smoldering
crockery of our grueling truce.

We swim the thinning broth bath,
in a wonton spare of salt licked simmer.

Serve up the usurp of our souls
to a bland humanity of hungry trolls
and trippy trollops in search
of the eternal bitter green.

We lick  a lollipop of watch and wait;
two serfs in a soup kitchen for the regal...

"No seconds on the gruel sir?"
"Please sir, have some more-
(we snicker in deference).

Soup... our salty brothel
in a  slippery bubble of crafty sin...
a chive or two and the old shoe
of roads that lead us away
to the bare bones of wander.

"Please sir, is that so wrong?"


  1. Call me weird, but I am connecting this one to bribes and politics. Nicely done!

  2. No my dear, you aren't weird, just imaginatively correct. Great assessment!

  3. Thanks Megan! Still experimenting.