The old man you shake your stick at
May be on fire

The pain shooting through his knees
Seeps into your babies bottle

A mother’s breast he had to fight for
Sleeps beneath the ground
Preserved like a future science experiment

There is nothing in the world
That cannot be beautiful and sad

The rush of picking a side
Overshadows the main dish

Who loosened the lids on all the salt shakers
Who left the refrigerator door open
Who’s footprints are in the butter

Could there be such a thing
As a mindful meat cutter

Could we eventually see
With the eyes we are born with

I see many worlds dancing and
Many worlds asleep
Many worlds dreaming
Dreaming of wakefulness
Dreaming of sleep