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how could i make it possible

that this poem could feed you?

how can i turn it over on the grill

without it charring?

united states poetics

was the first to go.

you know how many health inspectors there are?

hardly a home cook in sight.

the burning point of poetry

was decades ago

and here we are

left to scrape off

its charred remains

the poem exploded in the microwave.

the flare of burst kernels

half stuck to the tempered glass

while i remained in a fugue state

i remained in thermal shock

i didn’t mean to set fire to the office (in that way)

didn’t intend

for my words

to turn into a bomb

the cheesy, palm oil-coated publishing

developed by venture capitalists and food scientists

has a reputation

as being junk food

in the united states.

the junk food wrapper

of u.s. poetry

clung to my skin

the cling wrap devastating

whole ecosystems

shallow waters

filled with filth

even aluminum a pollutant

even the metal words of the past

started to feel a little

junky

a little cumbersome

in its advertising