On Top of Spaghetti

let’s make the bull happy
his belly aware of loss
moths that devour our wool
it’s good to be the baker
to kneed & bake bread
those simpler fashions
amoeba love that turns
meaningless with morning
we have no words for breakfast
in child’s game with roles
i end up as the bad guy
we see the days getting longer
they say it’s the calendar
i think the sun if bored