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Arbitrary Rhyme Regarding Bread and Butter

Lucas Dantas Leite

I think of the sparse and senseless memories that seem to linger in my mind  for no reason other than to take up space, vague and fading markers of excess. 

I loved  

but love is a silver thread 

too thin to reflect, 

too frictionless to hold. 

And in your house there is a bed 

on which to rest your sleepy head. 

Like a mouse, you have been led 

through a maze; 

I stand amazed. 

You have bore a hole 

through my bread. 

Welcome to a mind. 

A mind made of line, 

line and thread. 

Much to define when 

a mind’s outside a head. 

But a head is where you belong, 

yet away from it you are led; 

pre-death, post-birth, 

to a humble mound of earth. 

Exhaust smoke, 

Swimming in the gutter. 

“Dumb bloke” 

Through pressed lips it stutters. 

Shutters down, hand on rubber, 

no more writing, just a pale mutter. 

And in your eyes there lies a soul 

on which to lay your burning coals. 

Like a sprout, 

you come about 

inconsequentially. 

I woke up from my dream, 

I was being carried by a stream, 

it was bringing me peace, 

but soon turning to steam,

there was a man with an apricot, 

he said: do you want a peach? 

I said no, I’d just like a piece— 

oh, can’t we have one each? 

And then I woke up. 

Exhaust smoke 

swimming in the gutter. 

“Dumb bloke” 

Through pressed lips it stutters. 

Shutters down, hand on rubber, 

no more writing, life is bread and butter. 

And in your blouse there is a house.

And in your house a soul espoused.

Behind façades, words are

mouthed: “I am aroused” 

And the day was over. 

I woke up to a broken moon, 

my eyes glazed perfectly 

and the pretty birds sang their tunes.

White-lined lips and empty-grasping

hands, I think the dream is over. 

Through pressed lips, swinging

hips, flamboyant dips, it utters: 

“Life is bread and butter”

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