nothin prepares us so well for hope
than to breakfast on despair.
nothin prepares us so thoroughly for despair
than to eat bacon from high on the hog.
such relief finally to pull up a chair
to the kitchen table of heart and mind
to look at what we're serving up inside,
the soup du jour in the bowl of the soul...
then spoon and blow with delight
ah, my hat! my crow! my humble pie!
which explains so beautifully
the odd sense of well-being
to self-joust with
the right amount of cynicism
it's okay to observe these mastifications
and laugh as often as we find us sitting there
dipping snuff with such pleasure and thinking
my, my, what a nice coconut pie