In the confusing movement
cinnamon over life is cast
ancient surreal rituals
part of us chained to our past
life a market a pose a dance
chaos and abundance
hope and hunger
exchange is all we are
A dog chases a whim
a human chases a desire
momentary diamonds
shattering or a fading fire
the hearts anticlimax
the years long conditioning
cinnamon over each life lapse
yet constant pumping of blood
The exchange of life
through the organs
mostly the beating heart is
the market's well stoked cart
through veins and tubes and folds
Through ethereal moreishness
with no evidence of a soul
except consciousness
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