Go out and say goodbye to the garden.
Bury the rest of the food in the garden, as a propitiatory sacrifice to mother earth, or something.
Appease the bad, violent spirits that reside under cities, in the overflowing sewage, in the acid filled turf.
Will you let me leave, without leaving myself behind, without taking that dark cloud with me, will you let me be happy and contented, will you make sure the flowers and herbs will not be sad when I leave?
I dig this hole, I open this window to your world.
I place these offerings at your door.
Pastry for your subterranean mad hatter tea parties,
cinnamon for your libido (may it always be strong and gentle),
curry to perfume your sweat, I am sorry, possibly spirits do not sweat, do you emanate?
Asafoetida to calm your hysterical outbursts,
chipotle to be sweet and lively.
I give you this quince, as an apple, as a sign that temptation can be rotten, and as a repast for your acolytes, the earthworms.
I give you a kiss, I close up the gateway again.
I say a last goodbye ,
I am on my way.
