When you are so hungry that you’ll eat flour
delighted that the paste formed from your saliva tastes like a pastry
you can be confident that you have devised strategic rituals of survival.
Yellow light pulls through grayscale clouds
filtered above red, white, and blue institutions.
My thought of your death makes me think I need to get my affairs in order.
This isn’t the first attempt at this pattern of
Our bodies rotate, pivot and grind
undefined and repressed inside grooves
well-worn by culture, values and greed.