When ulcers last in the dooryard bloom'd
Red in my soul not anger just emotional stigmata fake stigmata shot through a squirt gun by beggar orphans at a circus beet-blood shot onto an unsuspecting mark's palms or actual stigmata the ultimate sacrifice real as flagellation or menses I am making a traditional Thanksgiving mulligatawny I am making daal or curried lentil soup whatever it is I am in fact steaming fat carrots with a tiny knob of ginger in the pot and my house smells like winter and I long for Italian Wedding Cookies and of course lemon curd so when life gives you fat carrots and red lentils you make mulligatawny this morning I took all the spices out of my clappboards and lined them up on the counter this will be a soup rich in curry from The Souk and turmeric and cinnamon and garam masala and one granny smith apple peeled and sliced thin and an onion and a can of diced tomatoes and some coconut milk rain storm soup holy soup I am typing quiet today trying not to think not fretting at all but red blood red palms and feet and the hole in my side everything seeping waiting for the storm that is certainly on its way now now hurry.
Happy Almost Winter Darklings
Soon it will be Beethoven's birthday
And I will spend it all brand new
ps. Also making more traditional sides dressing mashed potatoes pumpkin pie with just a smidge of ancho chili powder (delicious) and etc because maybe tomorrow my stomach will stop screaming at me and also the kid is home.