self awareness

 
if I were as self aware as my breakfast
then perhaps I would
die in the process of knowing
i am
something inedible.
the cereal bag crinkles—
WE’RE DELICIOUS, CRUNCHY, and OH SO SWEET
it declares beside the nutrition label
the milk carton sighs when I unscrew it
and inside the cap—
I’M UDDERLY REFRESHING
and on the underside of my bowl
HANDSOMELY HANDCRAFTED
and inked over my spine
below the expiration date
CONFUSED & WITHOUT A PLAN
or at least I think it may say
something like that
and I’m still in the process
of knowing
because I have yet to TEAR HERE
and discover impeccable plastic skin
and discover labels scratched off and reapplied,
their stubborn residue smeared over my face.

*

Ars Poetica

 
I am often asked
What it is I do
So late at night

It’s just this:
The page is blank
And it still is.

And God said
I am God
And I wouldn’t know

‘Cause I would be asleep,
Dreaming of a place
Just like where he’s from.