Soul Food
by Eric Twose

In every grain of sand

In the palm of my right hand

In the sleazy brothel bed

In the lowly cattle shed

In the slate-grey cloudy sky

In the frown of the passer-by

Behind the greasepaint smiles

And the drunkard on the tiles

In the salivating dogs of war

In the troubadour's chansons d'amour

Idly eyeing an opportunist fly

Watching life passing me by

In the heated climax of lust

In patience and in trust

Reading between the lines

Listening to my own whines

In a children's fairytale

In the morning junk mail

In the two-bit comic's joke

Meeting common or garden folk
 

Here's food enough for every fool

Who ever set out to find

What it was they were looking for,

Or what there was to find.