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By Mike O’Connell

resting beneath bolted beams,
a sea horse encased in shells,
breathing bubbles,
blue background providing motion.

fashionable photos of folks long gone,
wooden headed,
replacing disposable civilizations with
profitable contempt.. .
muddy streets,
sleepy horses
blinking still,
behind blinders,
roam reined in a final form,
framed forever,
behind glass
on aging walls,
old a hundred years ago.

accelerated by coffee,
buffered by abundant bacon,
crisp, complicated,
holding the faintest of echoes,
remnants of sacrificial screams
of repurposed pigs,
dead on the plate,
gastronomic acid
for a pyre,
eggs broken about a
cemetery of food
silent,
steaming,
a mixed message
of satisfaction,
poised to begin a journey
through the conduits
of the body,
to become contentment,
and other,
unmentionable artifacts…
breakfast, ho!

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