I rode my bike to the farmer's market today in search of tomatoes. I bought a giant bag, and as I was headed out, I ran into two poets. My love for tomatoes runs deep (borderline obsession), so I figured that was worthy of a poem. Here is what it says:
Tomatoe (yes, he actually spelled it wrong. Love it.)
flesh
of wine
spilled
in blood
of shaded night.
sweet heat
filling the vessel with
a taste of fruit
-WC (www.williamthepoet.com)
I don't know many places where you can get a poem with your purchase of tomatoes, which is why I think Seattle might be the greatest city on Earth. Just sayin'
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