Chicken Feed Poem by Michael Pruchnicki
Chicken Feed
eight weeks prospecting in Alaska
summer dust sits on a shelf
in garage out back
flecks of gold -
chicken feed
they call it
prospecters dig and hack
from rocky river bottoms
bits and pieces of soil
now the dust
sits in coffee cans
notebooks contain
figures of speech
hacked out of the imagination
chicken feed
they call it
literature
I call it
Friday, December 23, 2011
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5/4/2024 6:30:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119
