Ocean Tone

Bread Of Man

inside the hollow halls a column stands
a solemn man set in stasis
hang the mask of the borrowed face
kept misplaced in a narrow basement

places dinner right in front of me
the mouth may be too big to feed
all eyes and no teeth
he tries but can't speak

the light of persuasion dims the ochre moon
the talons of morning clutch the bread of man
a shadow of vibration is leaving the skin
you can't swallow the life adjacent to the one you're living in

the footsteps are not mine or yours
they follow a metal horse
granted wormholes and holograms to understand
feeling pigeon-toed, holed-up, and cramped
the stain of hands on the machines will never wash clean
the footsteps are not mine or yours

Words by travist.paine. ©2004