Thursday, October 11, 2012

Greetings, comrades of the breadolution,

I hope you're all soaking up the color and the sun and savoring the frosty mornings. We are nearing the end of the outdoor season. Our last outdoor market on the square will be on Saturday, November 10. We will begin the indoor market at Monona Terrace on November 17. Our first home delivery of the season will be on Friday, November 16. Stay tuned for more information as we get closer.

If you would like to be on our home delivery list, just send us an email. For those of you who are new to this list, you will receive an email on Sundays with the ordering menu once we begin delivering. In an effort to amuse, entertain, and occasionally annoy, I take this weekly opportunity to inflict upon you whatever poem or quotation or random bit of drivel that's currently taking up space in my mind. To kick things off, here's our poem of the week, perhaps appropriate for election season shenanigans: 


But look!  The churches keep opening
their mouths   like trout left to dry in the grass.

And the corporations don’t fall down - see
how they run:

the blue suits, the black robes, and their President
whose brain is a bug rolling dung.

Of course, there’s blood on the money.

The vampires have always 
walked among us. 

But so have the trees!

The great stalker called commerce
and the Earth’s primordial solo
continue to be the windows

through which we arrive - one by one - naked,
splashing like birdless birds into the air,
almost blind, begging to be fed.

Why? To become this?
These workaday trolls scared of our newspapers, 
revved up ready to buy bigger alarms?

Look how the world rolls around the sun’s gold belly,
how the ocean is so much stranger than its word.

Isn’t everybody still 3/5ths water?
How lonely   does a truth have to be
before we bring its blues to our lips?

What we do not sing, what we drown in 
not saying - 

is already music.  And still, we keep
turning from the sound

like two-legged animals all buttoned and zipped
unwilling to recognize this tall ladder of bones
to which we cling briefly with our small teeth. 

And because we do not see well into the future
because we are busy taking as much as we can get because 
money has infected these days with its prolific germ,

what surrounds us looks like forever
but it is not -

just as today’s wind
with its grim whistle and bruise
is only the weather for a little while,

on past the dying edge   of the usual
what they said   could never be


- Tim Seibles