We built houses to control the weather,
Manipulating light, heat, and water.
We are not controlled by nature, apart
From our primal needs: food, ***, sleep, and drink,
Maybe a quick cigarette... But never
By the weather that we have not yet met.

When I was younger, I would dig holes in
The backyard, hoping to find some treasure
Or arrive in China. I would dig, dig,
And dig until I got bored or was told
To stop, but would soon be back out, trying
Once more to arrive in China or find
Some treasure. My expeditions could be
Put on hold, but never stopped. When I took
Breaks from digging, my desire to find
Something (like a water droplet on the
End of a spigot: building, building, and
Building until it becomes so heavy
That it drops off and plummets to the ground)
Would grow, grow, and grow until I could fight
The urge no more and was back out, digging.

Separate from
Love.
God.
Food.
Money.
Cleanliness.
Water.
Sleep.
The alcoholic from drink.
The *** addict from --
Air.
Time.
Privacy.
Freedom.
These things tear down, cause
Stress.
Illness.
Fear.
Sadness.
Anger.
But the return is hopeful,
As is the possibility of a won battle,
And, sometimes, it takes a few tries.

Is it really the old who smell?
Or do we smell to them?
We changed their world.
It's not that they have grown obsolete:
They now do not have as strong of a sway.
It is the newer generation.
The old do not smell.
It is the young who smell.
Smell, to cover up the influence of the old.
For we are the ones in control, not they.
They were, but are now no longer.
So instead, they watch. They watch as their world changes.
And their smell is covered.

It can go on Apples,
Bread,
By itself.
You say it for a photograph,
One to place
On a shelf,
To be covered up by many books,
Words and thoughts
That some may know.
But it also sits within the fridge,
Taking time,
Little, to grow
Mold that could ****
One who tastes it,
Inadvertently, of course.
With all these questions
One could ask,
Are they ever on the source?
"Cows, silly,"
Comes the reply,
Simply, in a passive way.
And so it's settled,
And more is bought,
While another has a price to pay.

Have you ever broken something
Just to create destruction?
I have, and after, when I had disposed of the remains,
When my hands were bloodied
And cut, raw, trembling,
I felt remorse for what I had done.
But no amount of sorrow could bring back what I had cast
Into the very depths of uselessness.
I had touched something I should never have,
And it wore me until I was threadbare.
Thus I learned not to seek power,
And to be gentle with that which surrounds me.

Red ants climb up my leg,
Heading for that sweet, infinite
Amount of sugar
Residing on my lips and fingers.
The apple I am holding drops
And falls to the ground, landing flatly.
I am on my knees, collapsing downward,
Dirt landing at my sides.
The apple rolls away,
And the ants swarm on me.
They bore into my eyes,
Crawl into my ears,
And bite at my tongue.
When they are finished,
My skin is gone,
And my white skull is exposed
And empty.
I sleep,
Relieved to be no longer burdened by the ants.
*They are full, but ready to find another victim,
While I have exhausted my usefulness.