Potato kugel is one hefty amount. We honor it with heaps of cooking tomatoes, swelling tulips brimming with their guts all slimy and yummy, tattered hearts in blood strudel. Hearts aflame in syrup. Candy in syrup, baked goodness, cake closet, drab sheets, eager worlds.
Cranking the whip to Daddy, I grow a bone. Dead fathers arrived already dressed for death.
Boniva waits for your bones to sleep before eating your bones for dinner. Clipped waves became alimentary mints of mint light. I cry, gearing my essence (legs) with essence of fire and water and siren.
