In the journey, does it matter? Movement, intention & mediation. Knife, fork, spoon. And, as we all know, the plate is pure paper. Food like a poem begins small. Close to water; perhaps a harbor. A cove for sure. With food as with foods -- passion aplenty.
foolish anchor which is now holding us down, gravity, submersion, chemistry of continual desire, baked goods, surly matrons, the aprons of the one who matters, and dies cast--all this on the menu for brunch! why not ask them over and be done with it? the sun on my worn out couch, how can i ever turn it in?
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