The owner bites the dog, I bit myself I think I ate my leash My psychological hand pulls the chain from my stomach, leading me into the kitchen where You are making coffee
I wake up in the morning and curse you that bed, that old vessel of human broth I make it Repackaged, like new, letβs consume from within β Crisis averted
Last night I dreamt of islands chasing me And I was afraid because I had deserted them
You Pour me a cup of coffee I accept offering you a smile, but no gratitude, or hope While my mind gnaws at the memory of love.