Wordsmith's Long-Term Diet
by Odin Roark

The thirst hour,
where dark caramel movement
swirls its spell among icy shards,
as today and yesterday's memories
wait to cut loose their syllabic flotsam,
ink's endless search
for shoreline discovery.

Just as Time knows so well opportunity,
so too imagination refuses confinement,
remembering primitive grunts,
vernacular's ancient primate sounds
made legible by centuries' evolving accent,
rhythm,
pitch,
tempo.

Such teasing
of creation's palate
only ups the appetite
for lexiconic feasting.

Servings beg entrance…

Symbols simmer themselves into words,
offer snacks for tweets,
sumptuous main courses for tomes,
desserts for savory stories short,
aperitifs for thoughtful poetic musings.

Satiated for now…

After dinner dozing
shrouds tomorrow’s pressure,
as junk food language awaits another chance
to taunt a wordsmith’s discipline.