You can’t consume just one or one hundred
cheese puffs, potato chips, french fries,
spicy nachos, buttered and salted
and sugared pop or popcorn, chocolate
or sweet and/or sour candies, before-you-eat
appetizers, after-you-eat dessert, sweet treats,
finger food frequently shaped like fingers
scratching at your cravings, your will,
your stomach and bowels, fingering you eyeballs
with florescent commercial candy shells
and powdery packaging, graphic design
the line and color spice enervating will
with dopamine invites throughout the day,
by the finger tips in just one sitting,
by the desperate handfuls arriving
for a party in your mouth, your disco ball
teeth, your tongue slick with rainbow spit,
the same sludge sliding down electric insides
dancing until you cramp crap nap in fact
kill yourself, but neither can you ignore
unicorn frap shat in a cup
is only available for a limited time,
or until next spring, along with perennial green
milkshakes and day-glo barbecue finger sandwiches,
the catastrophic way to interrupt for a limited time
the terminal days and coronary aisles of well-stocked
cartoon characters busting nut on vivid bright bags and boxes,
the bukkake dripping off shelves after two centuries of Madison Avenue
neuroscience craving bigger loads, bursting out
in every direction like white van ice cream trucks
in a candy land of orange-dust captivity
where the children are sold young
and your inner child is rotten to the store.
#NaPoWriMo 2017 Day 20
Number 1, I fucking hate ads and marketing.
Number 2, with technology, social media, and someday soon augmented reality and virtual reality, it’s just going to get worse.
Number 3, Starbucks unicorn frap shat in a cup. Why does this exist? Why is this news?
Number 4, processed foods and marketing are killing us.
Number 5, I almost ate an entire big bag of Cheetos Puffs tonight; my diet is dead. And I’m a hypocrite. I’m a puff.
Number 6, I randomly opened Wisława Szymboraska’s view with a grain of sand to page 137, “Clothes”, and admired the wonderful lists.