What's lost in the preparation of any act
hobbles around like dust motes
that whisper tinnitus in your ear drum:
when making a peanut butter sandwich,
eventually your hair will fall out;
to make love is a waterfall of sharks.
So many foods are rich and dense, yet
there it is like an unexplained
place setting on the table: thinning.
There are times when I wonder what an elegy
would smell like--burning of orange leaves,
a favorite book, the longest extension between
the letter O and empty breath thereafter?
This is the dizziness I've felt.
When I blink several times, yet the world still moves.