An inauspicious start to this impermanent sunny morning:
concocted reality spooned from thin cardboard,
depressed tv chewing and spitting its non-events,
clagging milk onto sour grapes.
No more faffing, jiggering, pottering.
Filled with organic vigour and creative biscuits,
for lunch I will emerge a new dish
available for one day only:
a glorious tasty sandwich
of my scorpion and the moon.