omelette raze you melt cheese over shredded hog's hind leg and unhatched embryo, chanting: "all these things you are — it's all right. it's okay. believe them." you aren't speaking to a meal that hasn't yet met your mouth. your skillet song is what you've longed to hear for all the years you've been unbound but never dared to dream was true until the music moved through you. it's all right. it's okay. believe it. 260426 what's it to you? who go blather from