The scent of yeast is the scent of birth, placental,
the scent of birth and the scent of death the tiny things
chew up the sugars that are the lifeblood that is the soul
of the lives they consume that would scream screams that coagulated
the blood if they had mouths to scream and blood to clot
and cells to make ears to hear like falling trees and minds
to think and care and be bored and add relevancy.
And if the yeasts had clusters of nerves to clump and pile
and breed and shoot their electro-chemical spunk into each other’s
open hungry mouths with passion and fervor enough
to form squishy complex beautiful hideous brains
that cared and lusted and composed and rusted
like ours they’d all be psychopaths.
Just like we are.