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eat

it annoys me that we have to continue to eat
through profound suicidal thought

that we have to fend for ourselves
assemble an omlette
while ideating our death
chop onion
and grate ginger.

and fries - the devil.
them - you can find cheaply
as samosa was
around your house,
as you ideate your vanishing act

your invisibility, as it were,
if you ceased existing
like a rip in a magic cloak
or a liquid.

my entanglements are not liquid though,
and i wish they were knotted,
or knitted,
or woven.
but
they are like curly strewn instant noodles,
destined to interfere and break.

let me fantasize
destruction through
the bitter toxicity of
a morning coffee.

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