Please navigate by using our sitemap if a new menu does not appear shortly.

soup the cold crisps a frost glaze over fallen leaves as i open the kitchen door to the glorious smell of soup could the gods have known this nectar distilled from the essence of water and earth and love humble things, trimmings, peels, scraps surrendering their souls to the simmering soup which becomes, has become, is become something other than it's ingredients, it's contents, it's constituent parts of chicken, of beef, noodle, barley, pea. it becomes the transformed alchemic ecstasy, that most democratic of all, soup without which the spoon would not exist and bread would have no meaning. soup that, once inside, floods a universal warm, an orgasmic celebration of cooperation and sacrifice, a symphony of notes never before played for the jaded gasteroear. i lift the lid, pores opening to the soup Condensed soup soup is good. Angelo Angelo never came back from the store, only blocks away. The money, inside the note, in his hand, inside his pocket, grasped tightly. Remember not to lose it, his mother said Remember to come right home Remember don't talk to strangers. But the thing that Angelo would have remembered was that the man who bought him candy had shiny eyes, and smelled like pickles. Angel Star I first saw it by the light of the monkeybread moon Had to dip under the Big Dipper, and unbuckle Orion's Belt But it was unmistakably the Angel Star Smallish, and perfectly formed. Surrounded by a halo of unbounded hope and possibility. And if I squinted, and looked just right, I could see the little red wagon, hitched to it. Awaiting your arrival Awaiting your arrival Is a time like no other I'm small again, and the carnival lifts me up on lights and smells and noise. The carousel is a little too fast, so I must move quickly, as my mount carries me past you. The ferris wheel tops and stops... From the zenith I look for your face but the lights glare and the crowd swallows you into it's shapeless shape. Fear pushes excitement and wonder, drives those joys out of the white knuckled hands on the bar. The slow descent is agony... Waiting for you to come into my eye, to be grounded again. My feet touch the damp earth, and the clicking rails of the roller coaster call to me. Mounting the steps to the wooden platform, I consider not keeping my toes behind the yellow line Faith or ?... Many animals were harmed during the making of this poem. Rainforests decimated. The earth got colder, maybe warmer. Became overpopulated. Managed to get itself in the path of an asteroid. Schoolkids know what tsunami means. The chickenegg, birthdeath dance, (they should each be oneword) continuesends (anotherone!). We can do nothing but take note. And like the song says, Let the good times roll.

Network Input, sunlight, data, moonbeam. Wire neuron and synaptic pulse. Layered pcb fusion, Huxley's mind-at-large, With a plug, And a prayer

more Tomstuff pages

This page is best viewed by a JavaScript enabled browser.
	Other pages within the AppMate website... [Home]  [Software]  [Contact Us]  [References]  [Geek stuff]
	AppMate Performance Software 207 Long Pond Rd Danville, NH 03819	Tel: (603) 617-2833 Fax: (603) 617-2891 Tel: (888) 601-3069