The fork and knife,
Rest comfortably,
Side by side
On the table.
Holding the plate,
Up to my face,
I lapped away,
The last remnants,
Of breakfast.
Bits of pancake,
And scrambled eggs,
Encased in sweet amber,
Like a less depressing,
La Brea Tar Pit.
Color me an opportunist,
It would be in poor taste,
To let good food,
Fossilize.
Structures,
Carefully crafted,
To cause ruptures.
Bite down,
Break through,
Crumbling, crunching, crumpling,
Splitting in two.
Anchors for muscles,
Housings for engines,
Ivory tunnels,
Which flank,
The body’s front door.
Leave room for more!
Gnawing,
Sawing,
Clawing.
You are what you eat.
Seriously,
That matter becomes you.
That saying is true,
You eat,
So you can continue,
To chew.
The File Pile 