I am the man who manages perceptions
The chef who prepares full courses
Maintaining eye contact and composure
with a crocodile with a voice that thunders
"Where's the meal, that'll ease my hunger?"
Skeletal in spite of all he eats
Eventually he'll turn earth to bone
As though trapped in a freezer room
I am bound by novelty
Too distracted to conjure a recipe
By the sight of jaws that churn to fuel
Beauty borrowed piece by piece
From nature's treasures overlooked
Arranged in skillful reverence
Upon this thought, I'm ripped from brooding
By a roar that shatters my calm
"Go forth and gather ingredients,
A cook who cannot innovate
Is only good as food upon my plate!"
Braced by winds, I depart the castle
Overlooking the sun as it sweeps the manor
Peering down I see a street performer
Engaged with all his heart.
So proud I am to see him soar
It's like watching a brother's world debut
I wonder how much of myself I am
Spending to pay the rent.
As a child, wealth was an abstract thing
Now I know that's all there is
I've learned to love to chase it with eyes blurred
I'm running on a mind emptied of thought
Full of ideas from chefs now gone
Whose passions were spent on perfect dishes
Leaving nothing for themselves but poisoned wishes
I return to the manor
Seeing the whole of things for an instant
I effortlessly fashion the next plate
It shines strangely, as if the lights
were staring at it, apprehensive
Then a howling as the croc exclaims,
"This is the one, you must make more!"
"The taste of greatness," I reply, "cannot be mass produced-
Moreover, this was the final dish for you.
I sacrificed authenticity, like branches from a unique tree
As tinder for hearths that never warm,
For a home that'll never be my own,
And for an audience who is never moved."
I then toss my chef cap in the garbage,
The weight of this action is apparent
From a glance at the face of the crocodile
Nervously eyeing the ceiling
As the ground beneath him quakes
