Spoon-Fed Kidlet.... Poem by delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........

think....then spit
you'll find your own utensil....
.... you shall, in time....and you'll use it....
so, for now, we are splattered with your regurgitations.....some of it resonates with the perennially programmed....swallowers in the rafters and eaves...nesting in mud and dung....waxing flammable....faceless in the marketplace.....
when all, even your vomit, belongs to you....we'll talk...we'll think...we'll celebrate your freedom.....and mine.....
a picnic...some of it duly masticated, are we...yet to see a single exception....
.durn it...I hadda do it..') ....started early.....
.are we not divers in our consummate human-ness.........?