Fresh baked bread in my hands
I turn it over, stick my nose in
It smells like a bakery
I have done something that smells like a bakery
Walking down the street, the bakery is heaven
It calls the stomach
Tosses the mind
grain, yeast, water
The contours of the loaf
Imperfect, eddied
I move my fingers along the rough crags
arisen in violence
Like islands on the Pacific rim of fire
Where the gods forgot to finish
And evil spirits have yet begun
Turmoil, chemical reaction, severe heat
You can bake all day and nobody
Chastises you for smelling like a bakery
Drink all day, hell,
you’ll see how people think of breweries
Where the men work with
grain, yeast, water:
hallmarks of civilization
fast and easy luxuries of the expanding slave state,
bread and beer,
all I need
to smell of one and smell of the other
freed from this gross expansion


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