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Miles Hartfelder
Poems
Jun 2012
Head Chef of Intention
open field, ***** hands, chewed-down nails
I stood at my door and had a fine breakfast:
warm breeze over-easy on a gravel-bagel,
a side of spiced bird calls tasted envious,
baked humidity that I ate with my feet,
O, to be a head chef of intention.
Written by
Miles Hartfelder
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