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.
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