1.
Potato chips and ice cream
make a bad supper —
sitting on the couch
in front of reruns
with a lapful of fat
is enough to kill
anyone’s lust for life.
I might as well
be eating lard with a ladle.

2.
At 3 AM the thought of a cigarette
requires me to weigh
getting dressed against
staying put and turning
over and over in bed. Addiction
versus comfort is no battle —
I pull on a hoodie, sleep pants,
socks, a jacket. It’s not enough —
I’ll surely freeze if I smoke two.
I smoke two. I don’t freeze.
It’s a Pyrrhic victory — the fire
sears me together even as
my eyes frost over and I forget
how to get back inside
and go back to sleep.

3.
I’m wishing
I had that lard
and a ladle now.

4.
BBC News report: The Australian
box jellyfish
is the most venomous
creature on earth, can kill you
in two minutes, is ninety percent
water, travels in huge drift herds. I find myself
longing for that — for the ability to defend myself,
longing to be surrounded by my brothers,
my sisters; more so, longing to be
so much a part of my environment
that I am the environment.

5.
Already, I want
another cigarette. I want more
ice cream. Turn on the TV,
I don’t want to talk
to anyone — I just want to drift
awhile, not imagining a different life,
wondering at my own immunity
to my own poisons.

Praise be, I tell myself, for myself;
for the fats at bedtime
and the death taken in upon
insomniac awakening. Praise be
for the box jellyfish
who does it all with his family
close by. Praise be to all of us
who are so made. Who sit
immersed in danger, who become
our danger. Who slip through the world
transparently. Who know what we do
is toxic. Who do it again.