THE FUNDAMENT

I carry it with me

where ever I go

not knowing when 

I might need it next.

I carry it in my pocket

like a key

an oath

a lozenge

a ticket

a thought.

I have one for almost every occasion.

For when I order my IPA,

when I speak with my mother on Sundays,

and when I curse the neighbor next door.

And it is with me even now,

as I rest my bum on this park bench

convinced the world coheres because of me.

Because the pigeons at my feet

are like predicates eating bread crumbs 

straight from my trembling hands.