You ask me if I’ve tasted defeat
no
I’ve swallowed it whole and the digestion resulted in apprehension to any path I can’t crawl my way through

It’s ironic
the brain travels three thousand miles per minute
even as the body sits as still as Ice Age mountains
so my solution is to taste victory on golden platters in a dream sequence
the pattern is seamless
I’ve learned about suffering but would never teach it
A man like me could never lead, despite the absence of light that follows

but enough about aorta chambers left hollow, tell me of your timeline
what have you tasted
what has life left in your wallet
in your bed side
in your lungs
in your goodbyes
in your smiles
tell me what you know of reality and the singularity, our humble beginnings
tell me anything to distract me from the hours, the minutes, the seconds and every inch of my taste buds.

Please.