ripe avocados

So when it’s all over, what will it really be for, and who will really be able to sing? And who will walk paths in the sand alone? And who will be desperate? And who will fuck and who will respond on facebook to threads they never started, who will sew? Who will love? Who will dance naked willingly without conforming to categories, who will understand that we are animals, that we were born animals and that we will die animals, that we’re not spectators, we don’t need to just follow other people’s rules, we are more than just dip n’ dots, we are more than just preachers, we can run, run, run, run, before we can go, we can listen to laughter rumbling through the floor boards because the truth is that it’s only going to get done in parts, that we don’t have to wear a Halloween costume of despair, that ultimately it’s about love, about not being a slave to craving, about actually eating the avocados when they’re ripe.