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 Canadian Male

White Bread


White bread in plastic bag
dwelling on table.
Undecided as to what
flavour it would create.
Brain-dead maggots under the table,
crawling like white after rice.
We eat the definitions
we have been fed. Compulsive
behaviour aching like ticks on a dog.
Sonic boom blown apart like
chocolate cake
out of the box.
Existing on jumping worms
that tangle us into
deceptive cigarette butts.
We are one. We are many.
We are white bread in plastic bag.
We dwell on the table.
I dwell on the table.
I am the brain-dead maggot
crumbling despair in my arms.
Let me hold you and destroy you.
Unhinge your underwear thinking
set of values.
Unburden your soul
of all its pretending.
And we like to pretend.
And we like to eat white bread
with our teeth so perfectly
angled.
Be still heart of hearts.
Be quiet open grave.
I am transforming into
plastic forks and knives
spread out like a disguise
upon the picnic table of goodnight.







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