Ladle

Like a pot of sour soup, 
boiled with bile 
and the spit of the poisoned children
I was stirring the universe 
and watching the turns it was taking.

-then throwing logs off of men under it.

you are the eye of the universe.
in the night next to the stars
it is you with whom all converse.

Do not

Do not complain of old age.
it comes with time only,
And the privileged have it.

all

that appears is not.

my life

exquisite.

like dream of an infant,

leading to smile and tiny chuckles.
will I or anyone remember it.