Tuesday, September 12, 2017

For My Food is SPARTA!

My house is still after long nap
Oddly the dreaming continues
And the conflict..
    Takes presence.

An old arguement resurfaces
As I peel a tomato into my bowl of rice with rosemary
Diced.
And the food has centered me.
Grounded,
Cleared the agitating smoke
       From within my room.
Without having digested a molecule of ATP
Without really having absorbed anything, yet.

Somehow knowing I'm o.k. is enough
While I'm not waiting for it to be o.k.
Okayness is on it's way
Where I'll meet it, with a bigger belly.
And my mind is calmer, and seeking comfort.

Is that heretical?
To seek comfort.. calm... silence..?
It totally isn't.
Just like fun in of itself isn't a sin,
Or a laugh somekind of putdown.

Its the quiet, at ease with itself, Night
That spreads rest at no cost to one
The relaxed activity that says why bother...
Comfort, that boon of health,
Even the sick have an ounce or two of,
And the cool night has enough to shake a stick at
While the crickets mark it's passing tide of calm.

How ridiculously harmonious
Should I have a small bowl of rice and tomato
And two slices of cheese every supper,
Would my time always feel velvety?

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