Welcome to Popular Ink's INDELIBLE KITCHEN.

Now get the hell out!

Really, we would love to have you stay but we would feel rude about that as we have left. As in gone, defunct, kaput. We aren't here anymore. Sometimes, when it's late and we are worried about dying, we do believe in reincarnation. So, maybe we will live again. We'll let you know if that happens.


Poor reading skills predict death

A new study published in the Archives of Internal Medicine concludes:

"Inadequate health literacy, as measured by reading fluency, independently predicts all-cause mortality and cardiovascular death among community-dwelling elderly persons. Reading fluency is a more powerful variable than education for examining the association between socioeconomic status and health. " (Arch Intern Med. 2007;167:1503-1509)



"The Dirty Border - Chapter 3" by Melanie Lamaga

“This is the first installment in a series of photos from the Tijuana border crossing, a timeless universe where cars are furniture and kitch is religion.”


"Little Teatimes" by Jay Snodgrass

Once after a brunch of needles, pastry brown blood

Stains and fennel, you brandished

The length of hair at the caller knocking at the door,

Mocking birds scrabbling to fill

Up the morning with noise. Once after a breaking

Of limbs you leaned from the broken

Car window and pawed at the ground around my feet

Like a dog after a crime.

Once after the rain came to you like a blanket

Of clover, like a shawl of empty

Shoulders, you proclaimed that the future of wood

Was an axe. We embellished

Your waxing fever with polish and the electric

Wood sander for Christmas. Then

Once you learned to walk again, the lengths of tendon

Reworked into banisters of clean light

You stole a thimble of milk and every other tick

Of seconds from the clock. The refrigerator

Heaved a stony thrumming, compressing air

In gasps. One floor tile at a time

From the alternating patterns of worn browning cream

And burgundy scuffs, got up and marched

To the basement in regiments. Once you parted

The gift of a mirror into two rooms at once

The devil rang the door bell and you scuttled. Once

In a romance of broken rocks and asphalt

You went after the redness in a robin with the left over

Steak knives shivering in the drawer.

HEY! LOOK! A poem that actually responds to our monthly theme: “Murder, Mayhem and Miniature Golf” by Tabitha Dial

She used to always be ready

for miniature golf

or croquet –

any excuse to hit a ball

around a lawn

She used to always be ready

for a little murder

at the drop of a second –

any excuse to kick

around a father figure

She used to always be ready

for a bit of mayhem

or minor chaos –

any excuse to fix

over-frayed nerves

She used to be ready.

Now she cannot be bothered

to leave the house.


"Columbia" by Roy Scholten

600 x 600 black and white digital illustration made in GraphicConverter

"Metalla" by Roy Scholten

600 x 600 black and white digital illustrations made in Graphic Converter


Dick Cheney's Man Sized Safe by Jay Snodgrass

1. Obscene

Check the box behind the door. The case lingers, violence

Like bars of chocolate. Not so secret.

Reach back. Reach back to find the throat in the dark.

The straw, wet straw. I’m drinking from this.

Hide the behaviors of the secret camps. My big blue bleeding. Contiguous synthesis.

I love this channel. What will it do tomorrow.

The desert is one after the other. Arc of names.

What he said. Let’s do it again.

This street needs covering. Its secret is exposed. You drive down to my house and burn it down. The director is giving away his books.

Lick a card. Any card. Feel the redness

Living in the night, with my sacred credit cards.

Out of the braidal perilously crocking.

Specter of the worst. Clear metal bar. Swing into the casket.


Turf! by Clay Blancett

Turf, Water, Red Ball

Hole 3 Par 2

Hole 9 Par 2

Treacherous Stones

Like the Terraces of the Inca


Ultimates by Jay Snodgrass

Here is what you think:

I said everything:

Notice the blowing, full bore,

Nightly endured

Production, still, out of bounds.

Nobody said you would make

A flywheel of ground dinosaur teeth;

–A sewage system of forgettable –

A canonic undertow of unwavering vanity,

All, reigned in to the heart-thump.

I SAID: you may

Northern. The sanctity, cowling doomsday,

The great ones wave banners.

Their gloved fist at the sky. Superhero

Dilettantes, the total crimson cut

Of cosmic declaration, a super-cision.

While the superfluous over bite, fiend to crinkle,

Listens to the over-sound: here comes

The report: Dupe. Acquittal. Spectral