Wee Scoops

Measure for Measure

Postmodernist Soup

I’m choking on a mouthful of postmodern soup;
A blend to end all.

Every idea tossed in:
Heated through for centuries,
Over hot coals of millennia.

What bubbles to the surface?

I skim the scum;
Sip scalding soup.
What flavour is it in the end?

Vague and bland and beige.

I’m gagging,
I’m choking,

I shrink
And change
Into a pillar of salt.

I’m going in.

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5 thoughts on “Postmodernist Soup

  1. Your poem suits me quite perfectly right now after making dinner.

  2. You got it. Once we stop being individuals, we become not much at all.

  3. Pingback: Where do you store your information? Inside or outside your brain? « Wee Scoops

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