we don't know yet where we're going yet because it's all just blurry yet get on a jet and fly around look for the lost ones flinging arms into space to see if anybody touches them fingers splayed without finesse and eyes tightly clenched but we open them and then focus real tight
on a tin can
empty
that once held pieces of tuna flesh
not dolphin, for sure, no dolphin
said so right on the package

a bucket of margarine with a spoon over there
my friend says pass the spoon i'm hungry
he eats it pure
there's nothing else no money
or will
[but we must be blessed
because friends arrive who toil in gardens growing vegetables and fruit
and we have a feast to end all days
if only all days could end this way
faces that glow in the dark, not from chernobyl, but from something else
health and friendship and ease]
haha april fool's!
noboy comes and we just eat that bucket of margarine, staring into space not even smelling the mildew anymore
and wondering what it all means
do we have to kill to eat? we ask and contemplate
do we have to eat?
we could soak in the sun's rays like trees and leaves -- hemoglobin's kin is chlorophyll, my friend says
just one molecule different
margarine is plastic's brother, i say, just one molecule different
just one tiny gene different and we're chimps, he says
we're chimps, i say.
we're humans, he says. We think, we feel, we have souls, we're better than them, we're better than them!
we're animals, i say, no difference.
there's a difference, he says. we're on the top of the pyramid. the food chain feeds us
margarine, i say, pass the spoon. it feeds us one-molecule-away-from-plastic grease mixed with salt
and we're bloody grateful, he says, when you're hungry, this shit tastes delicious
the food chain, i say. let's thank the plankton
and the whales that eat them, he says. Let's thank the strawberries
that we dream about, i say, and the slugs that eat them before we get a chance, and which we wouldn't want to eat even if the margarine ran out.
and whatever eats them, he says, the slugs. what eats slugs?
i had a dog that ate them, i say. maybe birds, but i speculate
fungi, he says, for sure those little fungal buggers love the slugs
and eventually we trace the food chain all the way back to shakespeare who chronicles the legendary path of the king who dies, is eaten by worms, whom the fisherman captures to bait his fish, who eats the worm that ate the king, so that when it comes back around we're all cannibals
everyone has been everyone else's mother at one time or another, it is said, but we've all eaten one another, too
what an odd place, he says. Pass the spoon.