Michael Pruchnicki


Chicken Feed - Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

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

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Poem Submitted: Friday, December 23, 2011

Poem Edited: Saturday, December 24, 2011


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