Was a victim to advertising, and bought a Pizza Hut “Insider” double decker pizza tonight. I haven’t had pizza since the cleanse, and was having a mean craving after the paltry non-buffet at the co-op shindiggy thinger.

So, I got the pizza. It’s like a pizza quesadilla, with two crusts and a layer of cheese in-between them. I’m not sure how I felt about it. I ate two slices, then felt sort of nasty, in that clogged-artery sort of way. As the website says “The Insider pizza is for all consumers who think cheese — and lots of it — makes everything taste better. Cheese fans, especially Echo Boomers ages 16-23, will be drawn to the “ooey, gooey” taste of The Insider pizza.” Ooey Gooey describes how my bowels feel right now…They should have called it the “Inside Her.”

In other news, a poem. Here’s a weird thing: I haven’t written poetry in years. I think in paragraph structure, not prose. But, when I moved down to Olympia, and into this amazing home in the woods, where I can look out my window and watch cedar needles drift down, where I can laugh at squirrels fighting in the trees as I’m navigating a conference call to LA…suddenly poems started popping up.

Here was the first one, written in July.

Soil of the Future

My mother
Found herself
In the woods

Lysergic creams soothed her
Childhood traumas smoothed by
Guitar chords
And nakedness
And summer

Her suburban past sunk under
Hugs from strangers
Smiles beneath long beards
It was the revolution

And the revolution
Was back to nature
In the woods

Leaves fall
Because they want to be
The soil
Of the future

Her child
My Self
Grown from trees
Ran from trees

My Self
Found herself
In the city

Dilated heart
Its opened beat matching
Each bass beat
And beat
And beat

Surrounded by a laughable throng
Of others
Dancing

Sighs of the city were my lungs
Each grimy exhalation
Whispered the kinetic throb
During those early mornings
Those club drowsy dawns

My mother
Found herself
In the woods.

My Self
Found Herself
Exhausted.