The spirit’s test if something
is worth its time is
“Can you hold it
in your mouth?”
like honey, a poem,
a song, a lover’s
release of love, mother’s
milk or other
forms of nourishment.
The rest is the unrest
of life, mere combativeness
or sport, un-home,
not rich enough
to be the uncanny
where we must live.
Our weird spirit
is an oral thing
bathed in spit.