SALAD
By Jennifer Chapis
red is hardly a round color
starving geometry
plate of motorcycle scraps and parts that shine
shredded white still-life
a yellow glance
(vertigo-inducing anti-patterning)
we spit out the pits to stay alive
black holes black grace
(trace a green grape on a pink page)
deep wet maroon emerges
the olive oil is murderous
the bread homemade