The sandwich I ate and the soup I made.
Eating righteous mushroom soup;
hello small friends, you'll help us, won't you?
To eat most things feels violent but mushrooms
plan for it; to be consumed is a near-religious
ecstasy or at least a rite of passage.
Would I were more mushroom,
mere mortal mushroom that I am. They're like
the internet, right? The internet of trees?
I am constructing an internet of guts
within me and whoever else will
let me in. Bellyful of signals.
Ah Sunday such a morning passed to evening
with no purpose but to eat, spend time
and eat. Tomorrow will be better, and yesterday
was too. But Sundays I am mortal, I am small.