soupaphiliac

 

campbells soup
can red white wrapped
filled with inconsequence
chicken creamed white pulse
tomato scarlet flow
twisting opener
pressure and urge
scot towel to mop up
each dribble from serrated
edge of can.
there is no prehistory in these
objects on a supermarket shelf
conditional lifespan,
to be consumed
or immortalized ,
maybe when it is emptied
my heart will be placed
inside a broth of pain
and societies torture,
so different and will not yield
my mind
my art
my love
drip upon my lips
down my chin
i will yearn for more

others false horizons

her tears passed through

porous cheeks

to be shed again in happiness,

they opened a living room

in her head

space unmirrored void  of shine,

can her body be more

than a flesh machine,

facing the cashier

was that smile as false

as nails and lashes,

did he leave you

startled  by such a personal voice

that probed,

leaning back from her

leaning forward,

men are useless you know

she did not want to respond

instead put mayo

cheese and pasta in a bag

paid and left

leaving cashier

to fuss with tied back

dyed blonde hair,

waiting for another customer,

in the parking lot

a wind whipped off the lake,

opening tailgate

placed bag in,

and leaned on car side

memories studded her mind

and laughed

loud enough for only herself

to hear

dVersePoets

David Foster Wallace -Life Is Water Pt2