I have been eating poetry.
I have crumbs around the corners of my mouth.
I am a man of Herculean appetites.
I eat poetry like potato chips.
I have been told to vary my diet.
You should indulge in more food groups, they say.
Too much of one thing will give you a stomachache.
But I have a unique condition.
I am prescribed to eat poetry for the rest of my days.
Do not cry for me; it is a happy ailment.
I will round up other inkblot hearts who have a taste for salt.
We will pass around books, licking them.
We will whinny and stomp with joy.
This poem has been laced with MSG.
The bag is done.
I can't eat just one.
January 25, 2011