Dining Out

I’m in Terra Amata in the famous hut,
But it’s in Terre Haute and the Chinese
Delivery boy who studies the confused philosophy
Of entering through exits
And exiting through chimneys
Can’t find my door.

I tell him you can’t miss it.
On his feeble bone phone,
In the ivory light that is summoned
Before nightfall, he connects to the
All Knowing Operator who answers
Only in riddles.

Meanwhile, I’m starving to death.
I’ve got Barbarossa over for dinner,
And his disciples are harboring
An intense hatred for my style of décor,
Preferring instead to track mud on my dainties
And look into the infinity of opposing vanities.