Tear it all apart with these hands That laid the bricks before it existed. Before these hands was dust, Before the dust was an eternal wind, Blowing like blustery autumn leaves to gather In masses far from their home, Where they once grew green, Where we once were single cells floating together, Each one particle In a mass choking under the weight of So much life, So much indecent need for A place to hang a hat And eat a meal By a fireplace with a gorgeous wife And two lovely daughters. Still, staring at the table, Accompanied by the simple sound of mastication, Leaning forward to examine (Unknown to anyone else) The fine lines between every sliver of wood, With my spoon hanging in mid-air Between my mouth and my bowl, I pause and realize There is so much about A golden candlestick That cannot be comprehended.