The moment the tongue meets the palate...
The moment vibration enters the mouth...
The moment the two meet and words are created...
A hilt is put on a stainless blade...
Relegated to but a mere sword...
Like many things...
It dies the day it was born...
Though still supported by the formless...
A dunce only tastes what he drinks...
Tis a tea drawn to perfection...
Stemming from the sun, then the herbs...
But both having no mouth...
Still a better dinner as there is love...
Not bread alone...
Aye, but there is a meat that never goes stale...
No preparation required...
Tis sustained by itself...
Eat this daily...
And the tongue will become obsolete...
This is an absolute beyond obsolete...
Tis enough to feed a nation...
But not by knife and fork...
This food is the feeding itself...
This food is the nation itself...
This food is the knife and fork itself...
This food is the absolute obsolete itself...
For, there is not enough saliva to digest this...
No stomach can handle that which never runs out...
But the meat and flesh of the hand...
That is always subject to death...
Aye, sit with the family of light and eat well...
Eternal, this knowledge is never born, never dies...
doM
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