Bread of the Future, #10

#10: Bread of the Future

And now_cast aside, I’m always hungry here.
For the bread of the future.
That is because my sugar was consumed.
Not my goodness or sweetness,
But like Haitian charcoal, an endless burning
Took me to pyre.
Meat is made cleaner now with salt.
A Hilal regime also comes with blessings.
I’m told.
Fortune cookies are more fun when dinner is pleasant.
Yours last said,
“I will take steps never to hurt you, by seeing you only when your dreams return.”
And mine said, “Run and hide boy.”
You cannot offer her the world and ten deliver just a handful of poems!
This is no feast for the night train to Moscow.
But, that’s not in me these days to deliver on command.
To run and hide is no option either.
I am a fighter even against hopeless odds.
Even when my face is newly broken.
“There is no hope,” she says.
“That heart I captured in oils was yours not mine.
You are saying things with words,
That are not backed up by work you put in me.
Your eyes and actions are mismatching all stated intention.”
Tak!
I always stay and fight when it’s something worth tears to fight for.
And I knew you would never hurt me of your own intention.
Selfish-intention non-withstanding.
Nothing, is more worth fighting for than to win a heart.
But not to capture it.
I seek to win your hard heart_
_Overcome resistance,
With longing and with promise of a future happy life.
A life without love is not a life_
And love is no parlor trick.
It is built on passion.
On contract and on persistent deeds.
I am not so broken that these tears are for you.
They are my water spilt for failings of the past.
I am a partisan.
We are allowed tears in front of our lovers.
So do not spit on my tears.
Say sometimes, “Adler I have missed you, and you must give me more Adler.”
Happy Adler can change the world for his woman’s smile
And her crazy eyes, azure eyes looing sky high.
And live a long life for a partisan.
All 88 years left.
Dasha, “When you say you can’t see me again soon,”
I say I will walk not run.
Patience in long lives must be able to overcome fate.
I am now wide open to arrows.
A plate is my armor.
Made only of tin, not steel.
So basically I’m bullet proof officially,
I must stop chasing you or you will quickly be able to have me done in.
You are the only thing that can hurt me.
And you are also the only person in a cold world who can set me on fire.
What do I do with my heart?
I do love you and you are in the arms of another.
So in the meantime know this:
Without knowing each other’s futures,
We do know something of our pasts.
We shall assume this is a Russian bed time story, not an American fairy tale.
I am now a serf.
And you the wife of a baron.
I am an ambulance aristocrat in exile and you can always call for me to come back as your friend or a lover or partner forever.
I think forever is like General Winter.
Not open to suggestion, only indomitable.
Baukunin and Kropotkin knew.
They knew love is like General Winter too.
It dominates a man,
Consumes him until he retreats or reaches safely to a lover’s heart.
I am less like Mayakovski and soon more like Walter Sebastian Adler.
Dasha have some hope.
Winter is not long here.
Please don’t forget me, and sometimes even call on me.
Have hope; it floats.
I swear to that.
I saw it once in an American cinema.
This is the country we now share.
Hopeless odds are just the way our cowboy minds take to a challenge.

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