Tuesday, December 06, 2011


Category: Poetry/Lyrics

I heard that starfish
turn their stomachs inside-out to eat -
pop their digestive systems out of their mouths,
easy as a slow tongue,
absorb what’s worth eating, worth keeping.

And yet,
      through our scribbles, sketches, songs, the shake and shimmy
of our external parts
we’re exposing our innards - laying our guts
on the metaphorical table
in hopes of reeling in the good stuff -
the ancient, good-as-new light of stars
or the whisper of welcome snow
or every species and strain of love.
We eat the world’s ecstatic chaos, and it’s
damn tasty.

Posted by Cora Broomfield on 12/06 at 02:01 PM | Permalink
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