Mushroom Soup

It comes down to mushrooms, it always does. A good soup. The steaming earth spoon by spoon. Give me the primitive dish.
And when I call to the gods may they smell them on my breath.


I’ll give you nothing if you’ll reciprocate. I carry zeros in a tiny velvet purse.


Before my mother became a full bore drunk she read Dracula out loud to me. Blind kid with photo-monster mommy.


Dracula, earth, mushrooms, scary mother, zeros in a little sack.


I do love the way Yeats believed in things.


My first footprints in snow of the winter. This has been a clumsy year.


I actually belong to the G. K. Chesterton society.


I recommend the Cremini mushroom.

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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