Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Every morning

Crackers, hardtack, flour and water
The natural yeasts in the air
Wooden boxes,
Nails dusted over
Packed tight, twelve gross per
So far removed from hedonism
that aspirations
are only ever daydreams.
I wake in the morning
Lifting the bell to access the
fresh buttercream.
The mechanical beating
separating fat from protein;
cured meats.
Crackers, hardtack, flour and water.


Dear polyester, I just wanted to say how weird it is that the sky is the limit.  I am one hundred and five and you literally are the dust in my eyes.  You are such a daily component of life that your rubbing to wear degradation has now been such a persistent infiltrator of human biology that you are a component of every breath.  Your advancements to modern medicine have inspired such dyslexia, deformity and wrinkle free face, that we love you.  We can't live without you.  We can't live without you even if we tried.  We feed you to our food animals on purpose.  Your efficacy is immeasurable, you are designed by a manufacturer to be biologically toxic.  Love.  Your greatest influences are yet to be achieved.  I herald the day when your omnipresence in the human biology comes to fruition and becomes necessary like minerals.  We will be your polyester babies, enduring, within our very being, our own prophylactic eternal existence.  We won't decay, we will endure, mounding upon ourselves, slipping around one another in our polyester bodies; our cosmic undoing.