First draft, best draft

The above dictum would hold true only for gravity-fed systems. With forced carbonation, the first draft is of course mostly foam.



This love
is no excuse for clumsiness. I must
start paying better attention. Or is it
simply distraction I’ve been craving?

No, No. Come here, damn you! I want
to make a plain stew with onions,
a porridge with garlic – what Esau
bought so dearly, starved & sweaty,
hot from the hunt. These small red
lentils slip so nimbly from between
forefinger & thumb! Good thing
they don’t roll, too. I picture bracelets,
a little choker with five decades of red.
One tells a rosary, yes? Would drilled
lentils listen better, fall in line?
A wheel of fortune for levelers: no
matter where I stop counting – whether
I stop – the same mellifluous prayer,
half a pair of wings. Easy does it,
sister. Don’t hold your breath. But

why not just lick my finger, forget
the clumsy thumb? Ah, I can pick up
two, three, four at once! I point.
They stick.

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