Monday, April 26, 2010


you get to ask a question at the beginning ... but you don't get the answer till the end ... you put your ticket in and you go through the door ... you pick the ceiling you want ... you sit down on the floor ... you write your three word sentence on a paper just about that size ... you put it in your hand and hold it up to the sky ... and before you feel its warmth in your palm the attendant is at your side ... you're in a frazzle ... you've been in a tunnel ... you'd almost put your hand down ... but she whispers softly as if she were close to your ear ... tell me again love she says ... but louder so that I can hear ... what to say ... the paper is held up high and higher as she speaks ... aha you begin to understand ... a bowl of wisdom you squalk ... if you've made it fresh today ... my compliments to the chef ... may I see him when he's done ... if it were just years to count you wouldn't want to take the time to do it ... that's how many bowls she brings you and how many chefs you never get to see ... but each time after dinner you feel more light than heavy ... and you three word sentence rises

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