Thomas, what happens if you don’t touch the earth each hour,
do you forget it’s there?
Blinded by touch, will we know who we are, or is it just
that comfort zone we seek—a mantra of acts, like sipping
the broth first and eating the Eucharist noodles last?
And having consumed the body, we search for it in our own acts;
are constantly disappointed that we are not unique outside of what we are.
Signs and symbols surround us. We inhale the phemones of the herd.
We expect and accept no less—lees from the celebrations which created
god, the ipod, a leaf on this vine, the perfect cup of Tim Horton’s coffee
and one person out of two, always trying to pull each other apart.
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