Too preoccupied, but having still been eating, there should be something to say — if just twelve minor samples:
nectarine and rosehip syrup for breakfast
a galette made late at night, not eaten. A gift to the tomorrow self.
sesame mounds and dulce de leche, cold from the fridge.
Romesco sauce, cold and a little gritty, with cold eggs, boiled yesterday. On toast.
the same, but on baked sweet potato, white and orange on red on orange.
an orange top, and an orange scarf in hand, walking diagonally through the park just before six.
grated apple, kidney beans, lemon juice, chicory, coriander seeds, cucumbers, (grated one day, sliced the next), oil. In a bowl and in the front basket of the bike, mixed to warm in the time it took to ride to Maxwell Park. Salt or feta, too, on arrival.
goats curd on gummy fresh baguette.
goats curd, an hour later, on Dundee cake. the toasted almonds picked off the top and eaten singly first.
a cabbage white lights a second, near the strawberry plant. But, no! – instead sits against the leaf of the rose. Dark, small, serrated, its opposite.
a hot bath. I get out and lie just beside it on the tiles, transmuted 50cm west, between the hot radiator and the hot full tub. Heat radiates off us all.
a bath from empty, you get in while it’s still running. To warm, to hot, slowly, as lobsters do.
and Recent writing:
'x marks a spot' a response to 'In the meantime’ here
a text in FDBNHLLLTTFHORROR by me, ’that which doth not pass over to any object’: a burn diary, buy from stickyfingerspublishing here.