Thursday, August 17, 2017
Take fresh figs and put them in the freezer.
When fully frozen, take four or so out and peel/shave off skin with knife. You can peel them before putting them in the freezer too. Doesn't matter which way. (I don't mind the skin when they're fresh, but somehow the skins when frozen bring a little bit of salty/savoury/vegetal flavour to this dessert, which isn't ideal. It's not huge; having the skins on won't ruin it, but it's there when you eat the skins.)
Cut them up and put them in a bowl.
Pour in half and half cream. Or full cream - doesn't matter.
Do not eat it right away. Anyway you can't, because when the cream goes in, all the frozen fig pieces freeze together as one mass. Let it sit. Then start stirring it around with your spoon, mashing up the fig pieces a little. How far you want to go in melding the cream and frozen figs is up to you. It becomes a wonderful soft ice cream/milkshake bubbly type of thing. Do not add sugar or honey. It doesn't need sweetening.
You could sell this in a restaurant.
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
Sunday, August 13, 2017
Monday, August 7, 2017
Sunday, August 6, 2017
In the first rain of ripe summer
droughted arms will don more sky
with fragrance of their valentines,
the soon to sugar blush-wilt
confer the bakery air; a parchment
redolence, end-dangled, sun-like;
and September bless - dew meet dry -
lawn frittered, shower flown
katsuras, fleet and heart-shaped each:
first of leaves to cure their green.
Tuesday, August 1, 2017
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Insect mummies festoon right angles,
evincing perils brought to pass, the hidden
sublimity of spiders; dropping plumb bob
of riddling arachnids on your domicile
pane, making questions out of subtractions -
the mites, the flies, moths and mosquitoes:
would you smash one as I, or lob me out,
for having cleaned without notice these motes
infernally buzzing, that from your blood would eke
their multiples, or hole your clothes? Your cry
calling husband is only because milk bright
enamel starks me out like a feign while
my diligence is lost upon your insulated
sight; chancing upon me in the shower
everything about me appears to appear;
and so humoured even my skeleton is bared
on the outside, that once before I sloughed off
on your closet floor. Too affront for being threat,
I'm not your fright's true wooer in the tub.
Rather this is what everyone is scared of:
they are petrified of five minutes ago,
and all that it contains. Like the moon's half shadow.
What they need to wake up to, soon or late.
You were not frightened that one sable night
I rested on your sleeping cheek each of my
legible legs, near your smile line, and listened
to the enormous dream ghost from your lips. I was a clasp
on your face like a severed hand. Never harmed you.
Day shocks to see the way I drop down from
a thread, like an hourglass line of sand.