Counting beans, one for every
word you said today.
A waterfall of frozen
lima bean conversation.
Bright bean rage.
Soft, velvety heirloom beans.
Bean opera. Beans buzzing
in a thick glass jar.
Where do all these beans come from? —
these beans, with no apologies.
And why is it that you find yourself
at this late stage
so full of frigging
beans?
I like this one – “bean opera” – very, very good.
bean to my head.
Really dug this one, too. Thought for an admittedly v. differrent poem flashed into my mind reading this: what if it ended after the second stanza? Too haiku-y?
I like that edit. ends it on an interesting beat….
-Cecil
got gas?
I would not shorten this poem. To me it needs all seven stanzas. I really feel like I can relate to this one. Bean there. Felt that…