The Song of Cooking
The sword of hunger
snips the squeak
of the intestine,
which is like a cry
of a new born baby,
from my stomach.
Chop! Chop!
All chefs!
To cook! To cook!
You must go!
Cutlery jumps,
stoves burn,
veggies fear.
I open the cupboard
with the strength
of an elephant
as I inspected
what will be on the menu,
and flipped the recipe book
like a pastor
who just lost his verse.
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