most apple manna

The manna today came via Gertrude Stein. One of the minions suggested that the Stein of "Tender Buttons" is a lot harder to write than you think. It was a beautiful insight, from a jazz-oriented freshmore mind. Some of us riffed off of the inimitable GS, while a few tried their hand at riffing on Marilyn Hacker's "Blues" poem, she of the "curdy belly."

My riff on Ms Gertrude:

[i suppose it needs a title]

i have no idea no idea my name is bonet i have no idea and no ideas have me I am so being had by the no ideas in my head, erupting Vesuviuses that prolong the barge down the misery Rhine of backpedaling indulgence. The Pope was a vision before she was ever a Pope, with her fingerlilies and Tidy Bowl pancakes all up & down the liquid Versailles. Camouflage my pains, cried the quiet goose, lamentations in the principal's office, before the sturdy Board. She asked if we were Maximus - do we look like a movie?, we cried. Do we have the yellow cloaks necessary to bisect the obtuse angle? Visionary coffeeshops, truculent beasties eating the apple people who squire away all my lasting memories. I cannot think what could possibly come next, my name is bonet i have no idea . . .

[One of the minions, when given the "prompt," predictably responded with "i have no idea." I used her as my prompt, changing her name to protect her innocence.]