Latent History

Take the last train out to the highest mount

Remain three days

Eat lichen and shrike eggs

Follow the flocks through the gorge of grey rocks

Trace to the source; melodize with the spring

Then you will receive word -

Latent history foretold

Abide ten thousand years til next Spring

Larksong -- too high, almost, to be heard;

Swallows swinging low over dolomite lake

And diving into cathedraline crevices

Hear the frozen mountains' tongues proclaim 

your name in the chatter of new-thawn streams 

Moraine-enciphered rumors dispelled

शृणु - Attend! La baguette du dôme céleste 

touche le bol doré terrestre!

 

Last Trip

It was a pretty successful dinner party. He had brought up several different kinds of wine from the fridge in the basement: A couple different reds, some whites, a bottle of something fizzy, and a split of sauterne. And some of the guests brought various bottles of wine as well. In the end, people pretty much just stuck with reds. After everyone was gone, and he was cleaning up, he made several trips back down to the basement with all the bottles of leftover wine. On the last trip down the basement stairs, he lost his footing –– maybe it was too much wine –– and he stumbled, and several bottles of wine broke, and some shards of glass lacerated his arms, and he bled profusely, and the wine and blood commingled in his hair as he died.

Watch Out! John is Loose in the Kitchen

Here's what happens when I cook: 

I put too much butter in the pan
and heat it until the detectors go off ...

    I dice the onion and peppers far too small ...

        I cook the pasta until it slumps into mush ...

            I sauté the veggies until they're nearly burnt ...

                I use too much cumin, thyme, and paprika ...

                    I put too much salt, and too much pepper ...

Then I boil it all

until it's tasteless 

and satisfies no one.