Cold Supper
We define
Who we are
What things are
And how it should be
For it is by these distinctions
That form
And nature
Are provided
We define and redefine
Our cities
Ourselves
Our lifestyles
Our choices
Like mad bookkeepers
Endlessly fascinated by detail
Categories
Spreadsheets
Possibilities
All meaning nothing
Except confusion and fear
Instead of eating
What has been laid upon our tables
We choose to believe
In preferences
And distinctions
And pack our bags
In voluntary poverty
As we set out on a quest
That is not required
And leave our blessings
Our providence
Behind on the table
To search for some Holy Grail
And along the way
We become fascinated with
What we encounter
Forget our quest
And believe the journey was our goal
Our duty
Our all
We only take a break
From the madness
To build the prisons
That we call ‘home’ and ‘possessions’.
Why have we turned
From our Mother’s breast
To formulated nonsense?
Why have we left what was free and holy
For what we must labor for
And gives us disease?
Why have we strayed?
From the free and abundant Table of God
And conditioned ourselves to prefer
To eat from dumpsters?
Look inside yourself
And go home to your feast, prodigal sons and daughters.
It awaits.
---unAsleep