Morning Is Morning

I have some explaining to do — 5 o’clock meant I would speculate about artichokes (Greek) and the unfarmed mackerel. Anyway, the men would present us with a bed of carrot and potatoes + 1 cup of broth. Our husbandry in sharp mustard suit, laden with trial pieces for the fondue. I would prefer not to. I had such friends — a long time faring all through the West with my filth and a bouquet of cutlery where I had put it: by me. And yet expansive, the things made by the things I made. And a supervisor hovering behind me. The heaviness of being. I am the Name, Jehovah called from the bush. I had visions of pigeons. And I replied: Here I am to be called Ishmael and beget.