Everyday.

the cavern of my stomache
craves
brave sacrifices from
tribes of helpless delicatessen

it appears
my toes feast on rubble
that lodges obnoxiously
in the vast recesses of my shoe

my auditory organs
require music, both
beautiful
and i'll-gotten

and my lungs could go well without
any smoke you wish to throw at me
if smoke
could indeed be thrown

My fingers paint
helplessly with the aid of pencil
caricature, when they are
supposed to be taking notes

My brain ignores all this
it tends to other matters
and my soul flies free
as it dreams.