The kebab is one gaping
papoose
spice it, have a sheet of fingers
wrap it
maybe an elbow depress the center
eat it upright, not so much jabbing it
facewards but nodding earthwards
in a general direction.

trophy laced
with colorless veg
mayo drenched.
how is it that elements  huddled
in a tight fix will always find their
symmetry or, but, not amenable
to their mates, refine their symmetry
because hidden?
because the body does well to secret itself
just as these our soggy artefacts can
luxuriate
in pita or piada
or guts.

all comes out in the worsh, so be thankful for pipes and paper,
the mazelike artifice beneath your toes
and the great sun who shines down, yes, he is a god,
though I don't know which