The best poems are written on the hardy limbs of vegetables. Broccoli, cauliflower, and parsnips. Delicate truths spiral up stems and skip across indentations left by careless produce handlers. Gut-words escape from the penetralia of the mind, to end up nib-scratched on rutted, aromatic skin. Ink soaks into small fleshless creases, and pools at the roots. Cabbage leaves are the superior blotting papers of the Cruciferous world.