woden's day.

hey duders,
it's another 'nother day.
i think it's a baking day.
the the house isn't that warm,
the hottness hasn't been activated,
and the oven could use a preheating.
yeah.
definitely a baking day, y'heard?
chocolate magic funtime treats,
for everybody, and their faces.
the process is the whole point.
the path is the goal.
and then there's yum4tum treats afterwards.
c'mon.
*
i didn't plant it in my garden, but it's there-
whatever this thing is,
it's expert.
teleport:

uh-huh.
even the weeds in the woodsly goodness are dope.
i guess it's called orange hawkweed,
at least according to my
new hampshire naturalist's guide to native wildflowers.
smart.
it just showed up to be dope.
that's word.
***********
ummm,
are the rainbow sprankles infecting me
with fancy-pantserized cookie-cutting seahorseplay?
maybe.
i mean,
i have been reading a sh!tpile of olden days-type poetry.
wait a minute...
...poetry?
yuuuuuuup.
i know.
most of you just don't get it.
that's cool.
me neither.
but i am aware of what's fresh.
those old mutha-'uckers brought the thunder.
probably because they didn't have modern
technological distractions to dilute their powerful sauce.
even the light and little itty-bitty bits
had that furious force in 'em;
check these four lines of flavor:
-
"A hater he came and sat by a ditch,
And he took an old cracked lute;
And he sang a song that was more of a screech
'Gainst a woman that was a brute."
-
c'mon.
haters gonna hate.
and b!tches gonna b!tch.
my ninja P.B.S. knew what was up, kids.
oh, you like it.
or, at least, you should like it.
...alas!
this is not what i thought life was.
(^that's another good one)
neither is this:

awwwwwwww, man.
oak tree miscarriages!
baby acorns who didn't make it full-term.
of course,
that same tree has about a billion more chances
each and every year to pass on it's potential.
a few failures don't impede progress,
and that woodsly totem can't even walk.
so we've got NO excuses, kids.
that's a thing.
***********
wednesday is hump day for some.
you and i both know better, though, huh?
yeah.
more like humpback with a hunch day.
awwwwwwwwwww.
bloated and bumpy, beached, breeched and breached;
it's a sore, seared, and sullen way to span a day.
but it sure is really happening anyway.
neighbors,
there's not enough poetic pie-baking to change any of that.
it's just What Is.
hard styles,
crisp crusts,
soggy bottoms,
and a healthy dose of brown.
i think i'm gonna get some chocolate mouse turds.
those sprankles are just what's missing;
never quiet, never soft.....