The king of the kitchen
has fried himself into a corner.
In the last remaining steps of life
sizzled flesh melts to the floor.
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A collection of short poems
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5 comments:
Ooh, that last line caught me off guard!
ouch
This one smokes!
Brian, you're back?! If you are, that's great!
I missed you.
That one leaves me thinking I need to become a wiser person so I don't end up with that sort of fate.
Hmm, long fry the King. I once wrote a poem called The Queen Of Catalpa Street...perhaps they should meet.
This reminds me of Russel Edson. ("The Wounded Breakfast") A sort of dream-like and ill fated otherworld. And darkly homourous as well.
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