it’s due to a different kind of savoring

overheard in the  kitchen while i
zig zag stitch and zig zag some more:
baigz: do you mind if I blend deer brains in the blender
Jeaux: not only do i not mind, i encourage it
and later, baigz says something about how it looks like a strawberry smoothie

he is building/making a drum
he saw in a vision 

the styrofoam (luxury) box i construct and cut a door out of
(upon hearing the predicted 38degree high for tonight)
that mama cat, despite my placement of her bedding from her old nonluxury box
into her new luxury box, refuses to enter
perhaps because the styrafoam weirds her eout or perhaps because she’s punk as fuck and is committed to resisting anything that resembles urban development every step of the way

the taste of some of the season’s last tomatoes
and how i don’t know how to name it but
the quality of its flavor is so much different
than the season’s first
perhaps it is due to a different kind of savoring
(the difference between the it’s been too long since kind of savoring and the wistful enjoyment of what will soon be gone kind of savoring)