Well, if someone else is doing fireworks, I’ll go see, but I value my fingers and hearing too much to DIY it. But there is nothing like fireworks on Easter to warm the heart. Or on Arbor Day, or National Salsa Dancing Day (March 11th, mark your calendars. Also, don’t confuse it with National Salsa Day — honoring the spicy condiment on May 1st.) Nothing says holiday like fireworks.
The sky is gray.
The lake is gray.
The city beyond is gray.
Once so big,
The city is now small,
And I fear fog
Might erase it.
The lightbulb inside
A temple lantern
Shines like the sun:
Backdrop to painted
Branch & blossom...
But the fact that it's lit
Means that it must be
The moon.
once a day
light from the setting sun gleams
off the gold Buddha,
and shines through a window
across the boulevard.
Write about your most epic baking or cooking fail.
A blunder once in a while does not rise to tragedy. I burn toast on a regular basis. Think about that. It’s the most rudimentary culinary activity imaginable, and I fuck it up at least weekly.
To be fair, I think my toaster might be a North Korean imposter, part of a plot to undermine the Western Capitalist world one ruined breakfast at a time.
In the wee hours,
The city becomes a blur
Of color and motion,
But the moon
Is the moon
Is the moon.
Stony hills
Blanketed in green;
Softened -
Yet still hard.
Silent -
Yet riotous
As wind buffets
My face when I
Speed past.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 