My Grains, Deconstructed

This time around, I will not scatter these grains to land where the weeds might choke them. This time around, I will collect these kernels and take them to the gristmill in my head to crack under all that weight and break free… Turning while the other is static Between these stones lay our thoughts— (the bran, the germ, the endosperm) Fibrous fertility re(de)fined. Crushing each layer to smithereens Grinding and grinding, round and round Negligent space between these stones ‘til I can think no more. I gather my bushel of milled thoughts (ground yet still whole), add some yeast, sugar and water. We rest and we rise, we take the punches and fall, but we embrace the heat and rise again. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---I smile as I bite into my warm, buttered pan de sal mesmerized by the sun, glowing in the east... 06042018