you have that white chocolate

guilt, where it

isn't chocolate at all –

but something you've mixed

together from other things

things stolen
kigos from the Edo period

Bruce Lee's arms at 32 fps

crazy dumsaint and

Barthes' kleenex box

– that mercenary ethic
your head like a mixing bowl

and eyes for beaters

until at last

when you

bake

it looks nothing like you

– just ingredients, cold

crowd on the plate.