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Brian Bruso

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Tuna Crudo

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Flesh stripped bare,
shaved into tongue
dissolving wafers.
Placed upon with only
Alentejo olive oil and polyhedrons
of freshly flaked
flor de sal from
the flats of Algarve.


Packed with oil,

tightly placed in tins
to be divvied unto
seaside petisco shacks.
Pâté, chickpea salad
or with a cocktail
fork, straight up.
Savoring every sea
drenched Moorish soupçon.


Anchors dropped in memoriam;
reserve a port glass
to toast the great
beasts these untethered
anchors brought to market.
Now entrenched with
nameless hollow hulls
buried by decades of lore
laden tales above ground.

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Brian Bruso found poetry early in life, before culinary arts consumed him the next 30 years, whilst that voice continually whispered in his head, “be free, write again.” Recently published in Burningwords, Rathalla, {trampset} and Hibiscus lit mags.

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