1. |
Orchard & Armitage
03:48
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i spend my early-morning saturdays in the high school parking lot. i scour stalls for something small to fill the pickle jar; something big to fill the pot. there's contest breeds of hot cumaris grown - the second-hottest in the state. beneath the heat, they're sticky-sweet - straight capsaicin-laced candy - and'll linger on yr tongue for days.
sidewalks overrun with bicycles too afraid to ride the road. there's human beings i've never seen in all my years of living here, all in pristine workout clothes. they get the trail at park & armitage - just clear a path and let 'em through. they ding their bells - ah! go to hell! (let the job creators honk as they fly by, looking down at you).
we watched it thaw while they were off somewhere in the southern hemisphere in shorts and a tank top. and probably flip-flops!
sneezing, smiling in the summertime. this whole block is sprouting up. stick yr calf, bring yr best lamb, prepare yr offering. we'll paint the whole town red with virgin blood.
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2. |
Mandarin House
04:50
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ride out a few hard months getting treated like i'm garbage. check my instincts at the door. sick on the red line home in a blind rage. can't do - won't do - can't do it anymore.
"drink the tea." let them use my voice to speak.
kettles of tea and hot towels waiting on every table. wipe off the splattered sauce and shit. folk songs from seoul. the bowl's hot - it's carried with mitts from the kitchen. an egg cracked in raw now spitting and crisp.
it's all fine. these walls absorb all space and time. i stand in line in between my double shift for soup to warm my insides.
all of the noise around the mandarin house, circling around like a vulture. but we're safe inside. you can't shake me.
power through, pulling pennies we beg for, smiling at you. if you get what's due, try not to mention the money to the back-of-house crew.
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3. |
Houseplant 101
02:51
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two weeks 'til yr time is up - try to see everyone you should see. soaked sheets when the summer comes. purists scream - all of 'em - for a/c.
sat on yr back porch; collected my thoughts. knocked on yr damn door; i guess yr not home.
things are sprouting up everywhere i look. vines are climbing our back fences. buds are peeking out, up from underground, and everything is as you left it here.
take a short break to revitalize; bodyweight exercise every day. up late, but awake at five after eight. think that i'm in a state...
to lapse back to the habits i'd once held. forge new routines - forage ramps and morels.
soft leeks in a butter sauce, spinach leaves (triple-washed), bit of heat, thin sheets from a summer squash, nettle-steeped shio broth, all for me.
april's like a lychee festival. sweeter fruits and rare root vegetables. ah!
(chorus).
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4. |
Longman Lunch Every Day
03:41
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growing sprigs of rosemary. growing beets and salsify in planters in the street, down fulton at green. boiled down to flourishes - foam and gold foil garnishes. for all of yr hard work, half an ounce's worth.
they all watch for things they can't explain. get the clearest picture and you've won the game. of all the ways you'd think to entertain, we grow them all here for you.
hauling plates at half past two. when it proves too much for you, you put yr notice in. spend weeks at home again. barron is an eight-foot-tall madman tearing down the hall, all buttoned-up and proud to turn you inside out.
who guards our herb gardens while we sleep? who stays in the kitchen while this punk gets his ass beat? all the things in life you find so sweet - we give them all up for you.
we're saving space in the back to sell ramps from under the morgan l. sarsaparilla and fennel seed quenelles. pulling radishes all yr own. feast on what little roots they'd grown. their skin's bitter and hard and white as bone.
we're harvesting their wants for our basic needs. who stays in the garden when we all sit down to eat? some will live their whole lives on repeat so we can always be here for you.
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5. |
Halloween Hallway
04:57
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yr starting to pry yrself free. only a few more days until it's halloween. warmish breeze on yr skin. you'll let the sunlight in...
(some day), and train over to the halloween hallway.
spent the summer on the floor, not sure you'd ever make it back. sought out windows of support - a girl at the laundromat...
smoked you up while you waited for the bus.
you slipped in, hardly saying "hi". made yrself invisible and small. then, some stranger's making eyes, behind a mask. against the wall.
bizarre! he just anonymously watches from afar! and then he awkwardly invites you to his car!
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6. |
Flour Explosion
04:05
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powder, stuck, suspended in the night sky. grainy, blotting out the low light. this whole city's gonna burn alive and fall out. phone their families across town. twitch with fear at every small sound. shake and shiver as the walls come down.
i'll be on a plane, waiting for a gate.
hauled in - all down hennepin, the trucks inch toward their sure oblivion. i'll clock out, wander west and vaguely northbound. next thing, i'm sitting in an airport lounge, dozing off, when i hear the awful sound.
speech beyond belief from the gate's tv. look up to see fires in the street.
sooner or later, it was gonna blow up. year after year, they tried to vilify us. they can sound the alarms, but keep all the mills going. it's way too late before the splinters start showing.
i'll be on a plane, a million miles away. hate laid on display, as the flour falls like rain.
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