Pizzas and Ham­sters

Ham­ster in a maze

I don’t want to get her out. I need to go to bed.
Round and round she goes. In a ball life is a wheel.
Sad frow­ny face. Beg­ging for free­dom. Free­dom to dig a hole and run amuck.
Climb­ing, bur­row­ing. Slee­ping. Shit­ting. Repeat.
Piz­za in the oven piss­ing greasy moz­zarel­la steam. Burble gorp blorp.
Plesteocine era chick­en shapes bake near­by. Our com­fort is some­ones else’s
homaci­dal end­ing. Ba bock bock bock.
Our home is a maze. Mov­ing for­ward in time, to­wards a re­new­al of de­cay.
The carpet rots and is torn away by thou­sands of foot­steps, day af­ter day. The same trail traveled.
She has so much en­er­gy. This ham­ster on care and watch in our home.
A crap in the hand. A pee in the bush. Nev­er-end­ing warp speed for­ward,
to­wards an un­at­tainable es­cape. Not on my watch, sweet­ie.
Beets bleed blood where you least ex­pect it. Un-cut hands, shirts and cut­ting
boards. With­in porce­lain thrones. Roast­ed in the oven re­al­ly brings out the fla­vors.
Tastes more like food and less like soil. I guess that’s the point. To for­get that is comes
from the Earth. But every­thing comes from the Earth, that ex­ists on it’s sur­face. Un­less
you are a shoot­ing star, like David Bowie. Un­less you are Zig­gy Star­dust.

Per­haps this ham­ster is a spi­der from Mars. Three quar­ters of a piz­za awaits my morn­ing sun­shine. Amer­i­cano’s sound like an achiev­able dream. Fat & sti­mu­lants.

Is that what we all de­sire in this life? Caf­feine and some­thing just a lit­tle more deca­dent
than my reg­u­lar fair? Breath­ing in the cool night air, af­ter a day of hot en­er­gy a sweat­ing sun.
I’m find­ing it hard to go to sleep on a sum­mer’s night. It feels nat­ur­al to fight sleep. I can sleep
ear­ly in the win­ter. These are tru­ly the sal­ad days, Ed.

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