Toast

After a brief illness, some dry toast. This is how we create the world; with electrochemical reparations, enzymes to melt monsters. We chew moccasins supple enough to travel on to evening, One thought must be hammered to another until a scaffold is erected, a bone ribbed archway for onward journeys. After the toast, a part of me goes for a walk, another part stays home repairing a straw life, in case the big bad wolf returns.