idolatry

impenetrable individualized ignorance

implicates its idle island

into ideas involving inclusion

Recipe for Hoppin' John

INGREDIENTS:

• 2 1/2 cups dried black-eyed peas
• 1 package of bacon
  
• 1 large onion
  
• 3 large cloves garlic
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 cup brown rice
• 1 can (10 to 14.5 ounces) diced tomatoes with chile peppers, juices reserved
• 1 jalapeno or serrano pepper, minced
• 3/4 teaspoon paprika
• 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 3/4 teaspoon chili powder
• 3/4 teaspoon onion powder
• 3/4 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/4 teaspoon dill
• 3/4 teaspoon dried thyme leaves
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 3/4 teaspoon salt

Optional:

• 1 medium red bell pepper, chopped
• 1/2 green bell pepper, chopped
• 3 ribs celery, chopped
• 4 green onions, sliced
• 2 leaves of kale, chopped

Soak black eyed peas for 8 hours or overnight. Chop bacon into small pieces, chop garlic into pieces (not minced), chop onion in half and separate. In large pot, fry bacon, garlic, jalapeño and onion until bacon is brown and edible. Add black eyed peas and 4-5 cups of water. Add seasonings including bay leaf except salt. Let simmer 1 hour and 45 minutes. Add rice, tomatoes, kale, and salt. Let simmer another 45 minutes to an hour. Serve with cornbread.

waste

the earth is bleeding now
pus seeping out of raw, exposed wounds
and we drudge through

floods overflow the streets
destroy "civilization"
take out the vulnerable parts first
the real problems are left in tact
all the resources are still hoarded, unaffected
by the poison waters

only the transient wage earners
practically invisible
have lost everything.

the snow.

winter is a dreamland.
the cloudwater drops in crystalline star shapes to the earth into heaps with the same fluffy texture as originally in the sky.
it covers the green plants and the brown and gray earth, the faded fallen leaves of autumn
with a restful blanket
so that the earth may dream.
a blank slate
for a full imagination

the woods are silent, the water runs beneath its icelayer and drops off from tree branches, and the winter birds sing in whispers while the earth dreams of what lives beyond the clouds

only the hard asphalt remains
veins that continue pulsing with cars and producers/consumers carrying on with what
i hope won't wake us up into a never ending day. endless production, endless consumption.

our body's toxins never sleep
if they did they would dream another world and wake up feeling silly
about aspiring to the eternal day
that has left us all exhausted, cranky and delirious
caught in false momentum
lost,
and building more veins for the toxic day to overflow.
the cold, sterile whiteness of a false day,
the leaking air conditioner on the 84th floor,
pierces into the warm snowy blanket
under which the earth is tucked away dreaming of cyclical rhythms, the sun and the moon and the earth bound to its yearly cycle, spinning around in circles precariously balanced in a highchair awaiting spoonfuls of honey and all the other vanishing nourishments that revive the skin, the blood, the muscles and the liver of its body.
and it melts instantly,
poisoning all who drink from its river.
adderall and lithium forced down the small throat of a spinning child numbing her into a perpetual insomnia

until we smash our air conditioners
and put this day to rest.
let the night sky guide
so that its sun can shimmer in the mirror and remember its face.
so that no one is redirecting its memory into buzzing fluorescent coffins and skin cancer
and no one sitting high on the 84th floor
pushing buttons
watching through the screen
erasing winter
and killing our dreams.