self-radicalized

do you stand up,
stiffen
in the middle of breakfast,
toppling tea and childhood paradigms
and dumbfound yourself?

do birds and traffic, then, settle into symbols,
treelines bowing from giant fingers
to cordon you off from all but The Path,
voices thundering in your vainglorious
meat
to proselytize your animus?

does your machination bring you peace?