We were asked, amidst this shrinking and expanding world, of our staple; it is bread.
A noun leavened with metaphors that it chokes imagination thus becoming a phenomenon. Paris calls it Pain. It has followed the harvest of civilization as the yeasty dough that it is it is what it is if you just say the name like man to the floor, it answers to all flour
Until I piped into the many stories across the seas then I saw the staple is us chased by the sun found at the waters subduing greenland
We who are most complex are yet simply the one rising above the yeast of chaos