Peppercorns
If each peppercorn was a life,
each is saddled in surrender
of shunless damnation.
They dwell in anguish--
death row prisoners.
They huddle together
awaiting torsion
as the grinder rends
the season from their body.
All that remains is dust
milled over an entrée.
Copyright © Darren Knight | Year Posted 2024
|