An Outcarnation

Anticipating a poem about ephemerality,
I was thrust upon a word, a poised vide,
knighted recently for its appearance
and valiant efforts in doing something.

Importance, we can talk about over coffee,
and debate the meaning of life,
and yes you can have sugar and I milk,
and we can muse over particularities.

I'd like some chocolate.
Anticipating a poem about ephemerality,
I had a bite of fortune and spat it out,
disgusted at its bad taste.

I speak a different tongue, for each
time I breathe, because the breath changes
my vocal chords and tampers with sound
to the point that you may not be able to hear me.

Did you pick it up?
That was it. The vide. The word.

It's in ephemerality.
It's in something.
It's in meaning. Me.
Though not in life.