Per your instructions I am getting under this chicken’s skin with pats of compound butter, stowing the remaining herb twigs, onion, lemon, in the body’s dark cavity, cutting slits where the neck used to be, trussing it with its own legs, carnal, barbaric, delicious– Tonight is the dinner party, the only cohesive theme this newfound religion of decadence, oh we went in for truffle oil (yeah I know) triple crème cheese, the fattiest pork bits. […]
and dreaming of artichokes realistically with fine threads and coarse skin otherwise this winter might devour me, at night looking up spreads muhammara, peppers, roasted red, Aleppo, the roughest cut of salt, cumin earthy as dirt, rude scallions, but in just the right amount, tempered, a counterpoint, what lasts? rehearsals for the inevitable, blue-blooded kale and enough lemons to drown out the world, citrus affront, oil and pith, shock, doctrine, if life gives, you make
A bowl of limes in Mexican pewter its lines drew me at the thrift store coarse engravings a primordial river and lighter than it looks . A lime tree does better in drought than in abundance deprivation at its sour heart although with so much juice it’s tempting to say sweetness of course it isn’t but is also not bitter the childlike green belies the nuance . It is a promise in a way to […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 