Ars Poetica

You never did want

for words. Like flintstones

strike them together. Like this.

Like bright bowls invaded

by flies too soon before

we could enjoy the apples

as anything more than

decoration. Missed a spot

where it began — white mouth

of the mush. It is forbidden.

Pick it all up and flies alight

for the mash of garlic

and breadcrumbs clogging

the drain. Take Windex

and spray it into the trash

just to be safe. Here, like this.