You're buried in a potboiler on the beach
in the middle of a turkey sub
wondering what hasn't been done
and done again as life is done
in watermelon sugar
with how-to's what-not's and what-ever's . . .
Will time tell beyond the plantar fasciitis
springing up with every step
of an insistent go-between? . . .
Why go between, yes? . . .
Why the culinary curves of odysseyites
in anorexic kitchens? . . .
Why late at night lying in bed
without the gift of sleep
you dream archival footage to be found
in discovery among trembling windows
with offcolor shutters? . . .
Why the shake, rattle, and roll? . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |
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