To the middle, to the middle
Of it all. He catches me while I fall.
I can’t find myself
Behind the tree-delicious cakes in a cake shop, I have fallen
In love with baking.
The old mother tells me she has a book of cakes,
And do I want to look at them.
I said no, I shouldn’t be thinking
Cakes at this time of night, or day,
I should say, it’s only 4pm. I have fallen
Off a cliff into an abyss, the abyss is in my garage,
wrapped in tar paper.
Sometimes I watch tv at night.
There’s nothing on.
So I make up stories to myself,
That sound just about right.
The middle is not about right. It’s the middle, I said!
I stare straight at the sun. I’m not the only one.