Why it’s every morning,
I don’t know, but it creeps in,
the smell of burning toast,
crawling on long fingernails,
it spews filth into my Ford
as soon as I’m near the glorious
tall buildings, burning wheat,
seeds of grain.
Several seconds and I know,
it’s the cocoon of my soul
that burns and hurts my eyes.
Every morning, is it toast or spirit
that dies so others may thrive?