Found: On a log of oak, fused in shelves
Fruiting Body: 1.5cm, snow, fuzzy, small, gray at the margin (inrolled); flesh thin but very tough
Gills: white, protracted, well spaced, streaming to the tiny knob of the base
Taste: none, but chewy
-crush between your fingers
-stroke the parahairy cap
-wet then stroke the cap
Found: whirling around a branch
Fruiting body: 3cm; fan-shaped, spatula-shaped, heartshaped; creamy silky bands pushing in zones to hard copper-gold bands; flesh exquisitely thin and tough, margin gold
Underbody: creamy-buff, hard, soft, somewhat zoned
Hell is inescapable bliss today: I watered the ox, I fell around, clutching three instants of grappa. Oh what will it do, I’d spill the wine over the flesh of a white goat for you.
Sometimes I think I am gay when I see rainbows, burls, or the Maker piling hay. Each sharp grain pushes through the world a thousand times.
The vandals are coming with their axe, to flay me at the corner of Larkspur and Mark. To drag me through the streets, to the park, where they’ve stretched out their big rollers.
Purgatory, heaven-redeeming bliss. I will walk on hot coals through the mist. The bees and brambles sting the earth is freezing cold. I’ll walk through the ocean, though it stings my soul.
Upon the way is a Pool of Time. In it I see my name, floating on a lily pad. Open the hours, open your heart, I fell into the water with a start.
To the gates, all inset with rubies. Emeralds and lovelocks. Plus mirrors that refract you from every angle, style, and phase. I am with a hundred arms in an ormolu haze.
The ox leads the way through the cloudbanks to the God of All. Lounging on a couch made out of curious metal. Picking his fingers with a harp, stroking the calico cat with the warp. On the ropes of time an ocean lays, plucking
That sparkles all different waters.