Prep Lists in Tight Spaces

Angel rips stalks
into bits, puts
another cross
through the box,
replenishes
to the fill line,
snaps with ease
as unsuspecting
laughter
cascades.

They say,
if you are not
having fun
you are doing it
wrong.

Slap thy knee
with a soup spoon,
wrap thy homage
in bread, knead it,
let it register, stir
a hundred and one
amalgamations
into a spotted pot.

Who knew
the stretcher
would be
coming through?

Branches droop
with blooming
cauliflower,
gnarled hands
clamp over
bony shoulders.

Reduce—
tempt yourself
apart and split
the months
between haircuts.

From afar
my hip-lens
licks its lips,
an aesthetic
predilection
falling prey to
the wrinkled
sunrise
beneath
those
eyes.

Attention!
you dopey romantics,
drift not— there
is silence enough
to sift through.