Gold strands of the sensual fruit, cut and courted like old womens' hands
It lies, bleached and milled, bloated and gorged.
It lies with the decadence and mystery of astrology, stars colliding and children singing,
"Hallelujah" they scream, deafening screams may I add;
"The man with hair to his shoulders, the young sage who swore there would be bread was right!"
But I saw that man on the rock, that man with hair to his shoulders who spoke words like brick ovens and cooking ranges, and I called out:

In what do we see this hollowed bread, rapture after rapture of preached threat?
I see only two boys in the distance, two of the promised thousands;
They are starved of the nourishing bread,
longing for the rich golds and browns only the sweetened, baked caramel contains,
dripping translucent paradise on salted tongues where little grows but bad words and foul breath.
And when did breaking bread become broken bread?