On the Menu

Tonight, "Distraction Special."
Just think, you would want it, Distracion Escalavida,
cooked to distraction, and topped with distraction.
After dessert, to the cinema,
where a hundred thousand frames
roll you up into a story
and even take your breath.
Your life is in the hero, or in the villain,
his body bitter and tropic.

On the menu, the mind does not disguise its intent.
But it does disguise, too, deep inside, a hunger of habit,
which will not recognize itself,
ever reborn, of guilt, sadness, anger, wanting,
all of it too bound to say that it is unnecessary,
instead that it will lead you out.

The field of this and of that is tilled
with the plowshare of desire,
and the eel of energy, the worst, appears.
At last the eel of rest coils about you,
to begin the hunger again.