broccoli on the inside.

that's how i'm living my life.
with that tasty bread, full of broccoli,
on the inside.
in the crust, in my mouth, in my bellyhole.
that's family traditions, ninjas.
big ol' blocks of browned-up barbarian banquetry.

look at that extra-gluten-y crustiness.
that's right, neighbors-
extra-gluten-y.
that's the stretchy crust secret to gooey, chewy hottness.
oh, yeah, one more thing:
celiac disease can suckle it.
wheat treats rule my jewels, b!tches.
and like i already said-
there's broccoli on the inside:

c'mon. c'mon. C'MON.
you wish you'd had a slab of that succulence.
we tuned it up, too.
and as usual, the big reward for being the big baking daddy?
i got both butts.
yep.
two tapered-tips of broccoli, in bread, for my face.
a double-ender of delicious conical crustaceousness.
it's my house, after all.
(that's what she said)
as usual,
it goes to eleven in my kitchen.
and there're still brownies and frosting
just waiting to fulfill our flavorful fancies,
yesterday, today, tonight, and every other night.
it's always happening,
here more than there.
woodsly goodness is just that.
***********
rocks.
and more rocks.
and somehow, even more rocks.
i bring a crack team of rockin' robbers along for the ride.
a gang of four or more is preferred.
this time, in the sweltering sweat-pits,
i took jim, my helping handyman,
and my two dedicated daughterly rock-hunting little ladybirds.
rock hunting is an especially tricky lost art.
as it is,
rocks are pretty low-impact, in terms of the hunt,
as they don't ever really run from the hunters.
they rely much more heavily on camouflage.
and duders, it flippin' works.
they look exactly like every other blop and outcrop all around 'em.
and i'm not talking about boring bab-b!tch bricks of blase' basalt.
i'm naturally selecting the sz'huan spikes of earthly delight.
anybody can find a stone of two,
but it takes a worthy, wary-eyed warrior poet
to scoople up the really worthwhile ones.
that's why i bring a posse with me.
a search and rescue party of mountain-top trawlers,
making sure we nab all the garden-hard-style heavyweights.
another pick'em-up truckload, snagged and delivered.
when these gardens are finished.
(IF these gardens are ever finished)
you'll probably need to come over, huh?
otherwise, you're clearly missing out.
and we don't want that, now do we?
we planted grapes (of wrath),
and wisteria (of wonder),
and now all we need is a carpenter to help create the arbors.
it's a room, outside.
and the paths are being paved with participation,
and really big rocks.
isn't that always the case?
never quiet, never soft.....