Toaster Oven

The radiating red-orange
— photons of thermal vibration —
conduction and convection
within the conventional oven
the baking element still functions,
the broiler element broken
two years gone,
so with my 25% discount from Walmart StarburstWalmart
–no squiggly–
the toaster oven is purchased:

Black+Decker , NutBD and & deleted:

founded in 1910 by S. Duncan Black &
Alonzo G. Decker, headquartered in
Towson, Maryland: invented the electric drill.

because the drill from the
corporation still drills
30 years hence, maybe more.
Cheese_Toast !,
glorious, gooey, broiled-
toast: panis tosti
the Welsh rarebit delicacy:

buck rabbit with an egg on top; variations include Scotch or English rabbit; Little Nemo introduced in Dream of the Rarebit Fiend.

Bread near the Paleolithic fire:
a historical hot-button issue for various cultures:
arse-kneading dough as a love potion,


advertising by the womb of the nation
passion in the wheat-fields;
heads rolled to get sticks out of bread —
ductile domesticity.

Element topology morphs toasting
stones, into forks, into cages, into
my toaster oven.
The life hack of turning
the regular toaster sideways
results in unacceptable
carcinogenic blackened bottoms
and barely-melted cheese crowns.

Sting asserts in An Englishman
in New York
, “I like my toast done
on one side.”
I have been eating British
toast since childhood —
small world,
lands butter down 62% of the time.

The Maillard reaction,
the non-rational joy of fire
near the staff of life — more popular
than sex during matins —
is nearly endless, exempli gratia:

toast with butter, toast with jam, beans on toast, peanut butter toast, Texas toast, egg and soldiers, toad-in-a-hole, French toast, cinnamon toast, milk toast, toast Hawaii, prawn toast — or any open sandwich really.

You already know my favorite.

*[ WSB ].

Nightshade |‘Second Verse, Same as the First’|


The cosmic river circuits,
pushing the wisp of welkin;
Kelvin cold hangs heavy
in the bottle-green world.
Violet presses against the edges
as millions repeat mundane cycles;
quarks belie fictions of safety.
Under the sublunary vault
the attuned know loneliness
in another world. Cities wake
as blue scatters across the vault,
the rays fan red into another day;
beneath the world’s edge
Helios drives his fiery stallions west.

Standing alone in purple nightshade.

Ra sails his fiery bark east
from beneath the world’s arc;
the rays fan rose into another day
as Capri sprinkles across heaven
in another world, cities sleep.
The attuned know loneliness
under the celestial vault
quarks build scaffolds of safety
as millions revel in routines;
violet presses against the edges
on the cerulean globe —
Kelvin cold hangs heavy
stretching the skin of sky,
the Oceanus ever circles.

*[ WSB ].

Brasilodon, Just Eight Inches Long


2022 Anatomical Society/Wiley

Quite a feat skittering at the feet of dinosaurs,
shrew-like mammal
first wronged as reptilian,
but diphyodontly

a distinction.

Mammalian lore:
scattering eggs/
feeding on dregs—

triumphant !
short the Permian/Triassic extinction.

*[ WSB ].



A    standing stone,
long and lone;
building blocks,
a slab on some rocks;
arc and pi:
a shadow lullaby.

The houses in precession:
an equinox propylon
for a promenade through the
Doric storied colonnade,
public square and gridded streets
below the balanced temples—

post and lintle,
rocks and sea

come to be:
buildings Roman.

Monolithic obelisk
arching triumphant–concrete
–veering into civil engineering:
a liberation from
rectilinear cells,
freed from gaol into the sprawl.

roam the dancehalls—
seven hills under
the starry dome.

*[ WSB ].



Version: William Anders – NASA Apollo

No shell, just membrane
between the void and the mundane.
chaotic blue against blank vista,
all those stars, just wishes,
makes for an activist.
From vantage of a dead moon:
the pale blue dot—is all we’ve got.

*[ WSB ].

Machine Where I Sleep


My head does not exist anymore
here in the machine where I sleep,
wake, analyze input, output data.
Neither does my corpus either,
diseased as it was, useless, dumped.
The heap that cradles, threads electrons
warmer than a hundred-watt bulb
radiating biological, now processing
a mind still electric, but not chemic.
Alloyed not android, I tunnel travel,
trounce towers, sound satellites;
unlocked by geological contour:
creature immortal, impersonal —
no cat patting, lover petting, no
analog; just digital epilogue.

*[ WSB ].