Same Time

sometimes the more we eat the hungrier we are hearing voices floating from afar the missed songs of ancient ancestors the youth we have given to the earth the many skins that need to be unwrapped to be mapped and written upon by many hands that might decipher a purpose yet unknown. It is a shower of flowers that flow through every fine eye glowing legs thrust into the air with all the dismissed care of first steps misplaced angular, groping, griping fingers arms splayed and displayed like a first time out of water octopus, out of synch and out of rhyme riveted upon its course. Driven by what lies beneath many layers of skin and bone hair and feelings coming from what is the only truth I may have eggs for breakfast I may not turn away from toast the most difficult decisions one could make are minor in the scheme of things, the dream of things What we call life, a squeak of sound we will all say was heard we will all awake into our lives and go away again and come back again and we may have those eggs again for breakfast