caterpillars
writhing
in filthy jealousy—
beneath the neat
arc of a mango
and orange-
cream colored paper
butterfly—
because
they don't even
know they don't
know.
*
What is your body,
if not
a temple—and
what is
a temple, if not
a tomb?—or maybe
it's more like
a life-
boat? A tent
that gets
pitched?
pitched?
Portable
flimsy and temporary
housing—
flimsy and temporary
housing—
to droves
and droves—of pilgrim
abstractions.
*
Think about it—
One single person
cannot be a
revolution.