Bread

Slowly the white dream wrestle(s) to life hands shaping the salt and the foreign cornfields the cold flesh kneaded by fingers is ready for the charcoal for the black wife of heat the years of green sleeping in the volcano. the dream becomes tougher. settling into its shape like a bullfrog. suns rise and electrons touch it. walls melt into brown. moving to crisp and crackle breathing edge of the knife of the oven. noise of the shop. noise of the farmer. market. on this slab of lord. on this table w/ its oil-skin cloth on this altar of the bone. this sacrifice of isaac. warm dead. warm merchandise. more than worn merchandise life itself. the dream of the soil itself flesh of the god you break. peace to your lips. strife of the multitudes who howl all day for its saviour who need its crumbs as fish. flickering through their green element need a wide glassy wisdom to keep their groans alive and this loaf here. life now halted. more and more water add- itive. the dream less clear. the soil more distant its prayer of table. bless of lips. more hard to reach w/ penn- ies. the knife that should have cut it. the hands that should have broken open its victory of crusts at your throat. balaam watching w/ red leak -ing eyes. the rats finding only this young empty husk sharp- ening their ratchets. your wife going out on the streets. searching searching her feet tapping. the lights of the motor- cars watching watching round- ing the shape of her girdle. her back naked rolled into night into night w/out morning rolled into dead into dead w/out vision rolled into life into life w/out dream