I don’t want

I don’t need

bread

I don’t want

I don’t need

candle-waxed ideas

peddled from the head

Such secrets slipping

in and out of what seems normal…..

But tracking

and tracing

lies in waiting

like torture chambers

left in a barn to rust

and then sprung

rediscovered

on a hot dusty day

And over the hill

from within a kitchen painted blue

A bread

is rising

baking

And,

I don’t want it

don’t need it peddled

before my hunger

just want to die before the  hollow

or

turn and walk somewhere else

take solace in a treehouse

high so very high

somewhere else

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