I don’t need
A whole taco shell,
I like to break my bread,
Or chips, into smaller pieces,
Anyway. To fit my mouth,
And whatever else is going into
It, with a crunchy bite.

It seems more important
To contemplate each piece,
Its form, its shape, its ‘potential’,
So to speak. And then, I eat it! Is that
All right? The way to go to
Treasure flour/(history)?
Loving each bite

Is getting harder, staler, vapid,
Like a mosquito gorged in blood.
I like to taste my bits, too, each piece,
Another stupidness. We’re tired
Of being human, right? Being
Mindfull. It’s a curse, and a breathe,
Eating each bite.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 6/11/09