Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Writer's Block: The Sandwich

The Sandwich

What is left

In this burned-out bungalow

But scattered crumbs

Tracing a trail

Leading from my room to yours.

I had it once;

Once there was something

I held it in my hands

The impalpable made tangible

A flame lit by the invisible rays of the sun.

You can't start a fire

To save your life.

Similarly, I can't find anything to eat

But a moldy disease someone left

Festering in the corner of your room.

Jesus, take this thing

Divide it amongst the people

Let it nourish and sate

Their terrible, ravenous hunger

And then leave.

Honestly, I don't deserve

The sandwich.

You do; I give credit

Where it is due.


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