That’s a very interesting question.
Life is a moving belt, an array of them
through a series of orifices, and thus
some might say that life belts out
through our orifice
–lost in time and
an illusory sense of motion. Am I moving forward
Or am I just the tunnel
For a bacteria superhighway.
Things go inside of me.
Things go out.
Then I sleep, and in that magical time
Things go inside of me.
And things go out, sometimes I wonder
If these conversations are consensual,
yet everyday god touches me.
I flake, my roots let loose.
The mouth leaks, the nose runs,
our glands sweat the bodies
Of exclusive undercover pools.
The bugs seek shelter and nutrition from my fattening mammal blood.
I seek shelter in the skin of a four leg beast that’s not alive.
The sun says I’m stuck between my teeth and I spit,
We are paid to sweep the world in circles,
to get the ground wet and then
 to dry, to throw ourselves away little-by
Little, as in, to desperately peel
An adhesive tag from a cheap gift.
We are all miserable people
Awake in the dream and between worlds.
I will be more willing to talk about this when
We’ve become beautiful angels.
But not now, not in the thicket, in the thick of it
Who has time. When this is over–let’s talk.
When I’ve cut through and I’ve broken
A dirt path behind me where nothing will
Ever grow again, maybe then

We’ll discuss this terrible lie at length.