In the style of Gertrude Stein
Rice, rice waits. Wood, wood waits. Rice waits in wood. Metal, metal will not wait. Do not let it wait. Metal loves, metal loves the vinegary. Love is too metallic-y. Bitter, better be salty. Then cover. Not undercover, touch the cover. Then let the tantrum steam over. Let it be, let it read the room. That will stick, stick to one another. Add some grains, but waste not your thyme. Never the thyme but maybe a little saltier?
Now, see, see. Not too salty, but use water, correctly. Prepare it for later, a hot commodity. Now, turn up the music, it is not always appropriate. Nevermind, do not touch the keys. Then stack, bamboo, nori. Bipolar nori. Be friendly with bamboo, and meet with it smoothly. But rice, rice will meet it roughly, gladly. Glad, glad, glad-wraps an inverse job. Not today, sorry. Let the rice meet evenly, but lightly. It can only share and care for the nori so much. Do not forget the hair, black and a thumb wide. Not white, never white.
Then style that hair with a hot, hot commodity. It will curl, curl quickly. A surfer's wave, do not let it break. Then you roll, roll firmly. Your touch will speak, firmly. You roll a mission, from opposite the wave for the hardest mission. Remember first-year geometry, lines that run parallel-y. When reached, stick, stick the nori-blended hot commodity to itself. A letter, no lick.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
