Monday, October 12, 2009

foetry (food poetry) 2

something about the
sound
out of the block,
the comfort in my hands,
any other feels wrong,
i don’t understand
why they’re all
not like mine.
attentive,
always ready,
turned the wrong way
they bite their masters.
trust and care,
keeps them sharp.
speed
not always a friend.
but nothing feels like
dancing more
then
tip down,
push forward,
follow through,
pull back.
repeat.

 
(my knives)
 
 
NK 2009

1 comment:

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