A box of crackers is all that lies between me and bed. A box of salty, no-reduced-anything, rosemary and olive oil crackers. They have imbedded herbal bits, they have visible granules of salt, they have just enough oil to leave a small residue after having a couple handfuls.
I stretch out and eat them on my bed. Why should the box come between us? It is time for us all to be one! The me, the bed, the cracker box. I see crumbs and corners fall onto the sheets, onto my clothes. I am unsure whether or not to pick them up. Why waste what I can eat? Why eat what I can leave? Why not sleep amongst the filth, why not embrace my true animality? There are plenty of animals but not enough of them are human!
The ceiling fan slowly turns. The moving day illumines suspended dust. Dust is skin. I am all around me. A room filled with my own crumbs.
The box is empty before I realize and I'm eating air. The motion is of second-nature status. I'm chewing nothing, chomping my own teeth like a drug addict. Perhaps some of the enamel, even a microscopic amount, has chipped off and gone down my gullet. I am still hungry.
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