"Bread from the Fire," by Hans Ostrom, Lyrics, and Bertha Brady (vocals)

He's No Emperor

Well, we have to eat,

even as genocide, rapes,

atomic arsenals, and pious

bigotry persist, destroy, so

I roast beets. With a paring 

knife, I peel off dull hides,

reveal purple fiber of the roots.

Purple ink stains my fingers.

Has anyone painted with beet

juice? Chopped into small

pieces, the beets go in a

hot oven. When they're roasted

soft, I take them out, dribble

honey and shake salt on them,

serve with pasta and a simple

marinara sauce & a green salad,

plus a shared slice of a quick

raisin oat-bread I baked. I like

cooking for me and my wife.

It's a good thing, basic,

necessary. And about all

the influence I have

on the world, for as things

stand, I'm no emperor. 

hans ostrom 2024

Inside the Cake

Tonight I feel as if
I'm inside an invisible
cake. Reality cake.

I didn't have anything
to do with baking
a cake. I don't know

who baked it, or if
it just baked itself.
I'm simply inside the

cake. Tonight that's
all right. I don't have
to know why the

cake exists or why
I am inside it or why
reality is this cakiness.



hans ostrom