There are things
I believe in—
at breakfast,
for example—
eggs and bacon,
forks and knives,
butter and toast.
And of course,
there are things
which I don't—
pure villainy,
death and
reincarnation, animal
souls, karma and ghosts.
And then, there are
all of those
runnier things in between,
the sticky stuff
which I believe in,
but only just
a little—
hypothetical
barnyard animals, filthy
and greedy
strip mining operations,
wheat—conceptualized
as an amber wave.
But even if I could
glue it all together,
and even if I understood
why I was trying doing that,
I'd still never know—
what I was making,
how long
it would take me,
what
it was for.
