The reality of grasping intangible welcomes
from the monkey that hangs and smiles to clap

You deserve more than just the invisible yellow cake
from fruitful animal labor stuck to the hollows of my cheek

Who does this wood belong to? The stick
stuck in flowing stone of ages past long ago

I have no intention of breaking the broken
to fill the empty weapon that longs to extend

To teapots and bowls where tablecloths roam
you tap your bubbly finger once and twice

Calling the king to see reflections in my eye
Yet I sit and ingest wondering what you are

Afternoon calls to riches beyond clouds where
infectious water pours deep until frozen

The gut of my stomach refuses more
Where is the sun in this morning’s journey