grass and trees luc simonic now that i have relieved myself, onto my hand, onto lips and mouths, spilling mission critical data out my hard drive and onto my flash drive sticking it into the lettuce wrap. the spicy lettuce wrap. the soothing lettuce wrap, not sure if any of this will ever be worth more than the plastic it's in, so pardon my french. pardon my spanish. pardon my japanese, my long distance pleasure pie and preeminence and everything else whose mist creates olfactory pleasure & guilt like the day your grandmother was buried your cousin you have not seen for 16 years. the cousin whose one avoided eyeshot finally greets yours in similar fashion and all the shadows of death in every corner of your sanctuary are pale angels in comparison to the smell of one summer evening so many years ago in the middle of nowhere surrounded by grass and trees.