In the jug of the world, time was coming to a boil,
On the stove of fate, where death is merely a farce.
The kettle \u2013 an old one, with a crack on its side \u2013
Suddenly awakened within its own prophecy.
\u201cI am God!\u201d it thundered menacingly from its spout,
Though it poured out only steam and slippery irony.
Following it, the plates rose up,
Dictating their own morals and verses.
The fork \u2013 a pastor among a gang of knives,
The salt sprinkled wherever it spotted a sin.
The glasses held a meeting in the drawer,
And the spoon ran away \u2013 to a lover in the marmalade.
The world tilted, all boundaries vanished:
What is existence \u2013 depends on the imagination.
But the kettle kept boiling: without water and without meaning\u2026
For it was a God \u2013 only within its own bowl.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
In the jug of the world, time was coming to a boil,On the stove of fate, where death is merely a farce.The kettle \u2013 an old one, with a crack on its side \u2013Suddenly awakened within its own prophecy. \u201cI am God!\u201d it thundered menacingly from its spout,Though it poured out only steam and slippery […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[55],"tags":[122,118],"zbirnyk":[],"class_list":["post-4500","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","tag-death","tag-time"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n