October Poem 20

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.

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