Writing a poem
for a submission, succinct
I try my words to appear –
stylish, bare-less, brisk,
like baked-crisps they snap
in classy (as can be), proving
like a piece of bread, set
aside like a soliloquy in play
of the protagonist, not vice
versa; verses drizzle runny
missing flour and yolk
to hold together the contents
of an otherwise crumbling
(edible) delicacy.

I take myself out
of the kitchen, figuratively
of course, return a pint
of sense to the ledge
by the larder, housing
a few empty jars (airtight)
that once contained
secrets to cooking
a wordy piece.

I snap all my cookies
caught helplessly
in a cicada of exchanges
between my head and fingers,
refresh, reboot, restart,
fall into error, turn
off, I drift into sleep.