Churning, broiling, simmering, a verbal soup stews in the bowl of my cranium. When I am stirred up, possibilties are noodles softened by the hardening of hopes. Poetry is the meat of the matter that adds richness to the brain broth, with tiny sips doled out to others who "oooo and ahhh," or simply spew it out. Steam rises from the passions that are heating above my souls eternal flame. A spoon would be my publisher granting the world a delightful taste of what I can create, with just the right mix of in-greed-ients. This is my humble entre to the smorgasbord you have laid out. Let the readers digest and then perhaps a large variety of alphabet soup, will flow into the bowls of thier craniums as well.