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Day 29 2

 I realise too late, I have no recipe to hand down To my children I have no recipe, Handwritten , flour marked Shiny paged with butter  In an old red folder. I have a thousand poems But these are no use for eating  Unless they are- Read when tired or empty, Perhaps they make a kind of method, sense A process you can follow, no, a story, bones and all. But can a story feed us? Sometimes- In this way I kid myself all the time taken typing wasn't wasted When I might have practised another kind of alchemy ,  when I might have inherited And transposed memories of taste and hunger, happiness-  This recipe for recipes

Day 29

 The wrong order Or menu choices regretted It was grey meat mince wrapped in cabbage skin, jade green and uberboiled. It was like softpockets of organs stuffed back in the body ; there was a cream sauce peppergherkined strangely glow yellow grout white there was a bed of blood tomato jammy smeared There was a crown of bones with a little gristle blowtorched on which necessitated tilting the head owlike to bite into and one strip of tough flesh that needed the eater to rip hard with their canines and simultaneously rend in two with bare hands There was a shiny soup of shoe polish brown and in the ichor a white thing There was a pie as hot as mouthful of hell.  There was the dulleye and dark silver of the unknown two day fish Not at all the same, but as painful in the moment and the memory- I ordered grapefruit sorbet when I might have had a lovely mountain of profiteroles

Day 28

 Loose interpretations of indexes How Whittlesea uses Sharepoint Part 22 Unask Unbe Uncall Undo Unexplain Unform Ungive Unhear Uninvite Unjoin Unknow Unlove Unman Unname Unopen Unperson Unquestion Unrhyme Unseal Untry Unutter Unviolin Unwake Unyellow Unzip Begin  Again .................. Tota pulcra es, amica mea From the index of classical composers beginning with L I see the name Johannes of Lymbergia, Composer of music for gothic voices. His piece, tota pulcra es, amica mea I mistranslate as 'my girlfriend is all that'. The ghosty voices of El Greco sadly monks Haunt the shadow chapel- No, music, no, the human song. You, you are immaculately beautiful ... From the footballing life of Ruud Gullit How to watch football in secret from behind your bed, while at a cafĂ© in Montmartre, pretending to be existential. not at all. while also playing tennis, while counting the colours on a dragonfly, Carefully How to watch football in public in the street, not watching your step while s

Day 27 ..2

 The kadapul flower of happiness Is the dearest flower in the world Flowering only yearly  and then only, unobserved At midnight in a great desert But how worthwhile, How wonderful, this effort To see the moon (if there to be seen ) Then wither, silver, fade And cannot be bought

Day 27

 The donkey of motherhood She wanted to visit the chapel, so full of the portraits of icons, a person couldn't fit in Hip height and upholstered Heehaw heehaw - the mountain path a little steep If she carried what little idea she had of prayer up here, what then? If she carried herself. And the donkey of motherhood, switch tailing  the green horseflies of doubt stood patient  in the village and the yellowbirds of future crashed through the cypress trees

Day 26

 Apologies for people with these names....would have used my own, but Sarahs aren't endangered ..yet.... Kevins, It is rumoured your name Will be extinct; You do not renew your species I'll take the children To see you in captivity, So beautiful and gentle  Behind the glass of your enclosure  Meanwhile,  Barrys sing beautiful in the new aviary. Barbaras pace the square feet of captivity in a summer dress Oh Pat, oh Pat I see your bright blue  against the hothouse green. Nature, nicely dressed and wild

Day 25

 Is there a name for what sticks on the shoulder of the cactus like a tiny paper skull (a cactus flower itself)? It also looks so unnecessary and demands thoughts of the dance and dodge of bees between the spine or thorns Has anyone ever Gifted their true love a cactus flower In that way-  (You know, the way of roses and peonies and wild violets)? Just yellow and red and blue, Even a bud?