I got that bread home with them.
I got to smell the story
The whole way home.
I think it in my head.
The story, the whole way home.
Its air, selfish that involves
The progresses to completion,
To all bread you knew before,
To all loving king falling into place.
Its air, selfish that becomes clearer.
You asked me to get it,
That, the snag.
The story becomes clearer
As it involves the calling fish.
I am fish.
Though it be no I rinsed
In the water if the lord god.
I very much couldn’t eat any
The first day for already being teased by
The pretentious, the prisoner of knowledge,
Interested in all sorts of assgrabbin
Found sitting here.
Just because I can’t eat story
Doesn’t mean I don’t want to eat it
In a scholarly literary way.
Smelling reading and writing of genre
Makes me hungry.
If you are on a diet, then literary fiction writing,
Suffering an element within you, excretes the stool.
Your world, suffering all the things that you are not,
Knocks at your door.