I wanted
to write a poem tonight.
But what transpires
between me and my bedsheet
like the screen with its pixels that vibrate scrim-like in my eyes
could never be
literature,
that voice in my head said.
No one
would ever take that seriously.
It said.
For the love of yourself, why bother?
But I could, instead
sit humped and taste
the Heavenly Hash
spoonful by spoonful
in tiny mouthfuls,
the sweet
CANOLA OIL, LECITHIN, GLUCOSE;
GUAR GUM, POLY SORBATE 80.
* MAY CONTAIN TRACES OF PEANUTS.
I lick my spoon clean
until there's nothing left of me left
but the circles of fat that run rings around me
one
two
three.