I see the bananas and the pears
in the bowl,
the almonds and the sun flower seeds,
the pumpkin kernels, the apricots,
the oats and the oat drink and the raisins

That's breakfast, in front of me,
soon inside me

and I see the shit, smelly, behind me
if I look,
when I rise from the toilet seat
or my oriental squat
on a mountain hike

I'm just a trajectory
for all kinds of nutrients
passing inside me,
just and in and an out
held in place
by a porous and airy skeleton

I'm a grinder and a way station
and a fertilizer

and time passes solemnly
across the thresholds of my
rented apartment

I really have no say