Open a cheap merlot
and fill an expensive glass
but only partway
if you just let it breathe
it will come into its own.
Put the ten inch sauté on
medium high and add
a pat of butter
in three minutes it foams
a little, but just enough. Continue reading
Poetry, you see
Is actually
A perverse form
Of humor
Continue reading
In my dreams, I can run,
something I’ve always wanted to do
in real life, but never had the wind
or the the stamina for
(really, I’ve tried, and it’s not pretty).
But in my dreams I often find myself
jogging through the scenery
in a cadence that eats up distance
as effortlessly as the running of an avatar
but with a feeling of strength and
fluidity you can’t get watching
pixels dance along.
I dreamed that I ran up wide stairs
two at a time, no less.
Feeling my muscles compress and expand,
never thinking of my tired knees
or burning lungs, or feeling my whole frame
shake with each jolting impact.
I used to take stairs two at a time,
if not running, perhaps still with something
akin to a bound.
And I remember thinking once, watching
the rest of the world trudge up stairs,
will I ever come to that?
That’s one question answered, anyway.
Now I wonder how much further
I can run on until I run out of dreams.
Links/Sources:
I got up this morning and made soup (over coffee) for lunch
Sure, I’ve got all kinds of
soup in the freezer.
But I wanted something
I didn’t have.
Ain’t it always the way?
A cup of onions sliced thin
sauteed with some garlic
till soft.
One clove had a green bud
it must think it’s spring.
Into a quart of water with
8 oz of tomato sauce
and a teaspoon of chicken base
(stock purists, get off my case)
for 15 minutes of cheerful open simmer.
Yeah, yeah, so what?
Wait for it.
Two cups of tortilla chips left over
from yesterday’s office party
(Except for the ones I stole
waiting for stuff to simmer)
and 4 ounces of sauteed pork
(I thought it was chicken
when I took it out of the freezer).
A teaspoon chili, 1/4 each of cumin
and cayenne.
Head for the shower
while it bubbles
and thickens.
A call from Daniel
walking his dog
while I blend with the little Braun
I call it Eva.
It’s ground pork now.
You know what it needs?
Besides cilantro
which I don’t have.
A little sour cream
if it hasn’t gone bad
(and it hasn’t).
Hey. This rocks.
Maybe I’ll have soup
for breakfast?
I miss the feel
of turning bolts
torquing them down
into metal blocks
until they seat
and just a little more. Continue reading