By Mihaela Moscaliuc
Nine goats scamper up
the gnarly argan tree and graze it clean.
They ingest the wrinkled fruit whole,
though it’s the bitter pulp alone
that rouses their appetite for more.
Sated, they stare at the horizon
till branches wear thin and fall.
Farmers harvest goats’ droppings
to extract the pit rich in kernels of oil.
Haven’t you too wished yourself a goat
perched punch-drunk on a linden tree,
blasé about the gold you might shit,
how it might serve both hunger and greed.
Haven’t you goaded yourself
to balance just a bit longer,
chew on some fugitive scents,
forget what a ditch the earth is.
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My Tuesday was fairly quiet, mostly chores and some computer work. Daniel took his car to the shop and was told that it is likely totaled, though the insurance estimators have a couple of days to get back to him; the wheelhouse is damaged and probably makes more sense to replace the car, which he just finished paying off, so that's unhappy news, though I am just relieved everyone was all right following the accident. We took a walk to the beach in the gorgeous afternoon weather.
My Voyager group watch was "Child's Play" this week -- a good episode performance-wise and an engrossing story, though it leaves a bunch of questions unanswered from why the pathogen isn't affecting Seven of Nine to the crew's failure to protect Icheb's planet from what seems certain to be more Borg attacks. Now we're watching more Shogun, parts of which seem more like violence porn than historically accurate, but I like the women. Animals at Kelsey Creek Farm Park last weekend:
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