The Morning the Fast Slows

I go between ICANDOTHIS! and fuckfuckfuckI’mhungry.

Since there’s no snacks or booze to blunt the blade

that sharp edge gets sharper and sharper

but more heart forward and more head strong.

So bring on the carrots, hunger, and sweet potatoes.

Show me discomfort so I can know contrast.

Gotta thanks but no thanks

from two of my favorite record labels today,

ate a handful of pistachios,

then googled why the side of my Moog

Sub Phatty is slippery and found that I am not

the only one to have this problem.

In the beginning, fasting

feels like a self-imposed eating disorder.

But I tell myself         I gotta restore order

to my orbit. Not tomorrow  

but today.

I feel sick and not like skate-or-die-

sick-bro sick but like I-gave-myself-

mild-flu-symptoms-to-prove-a-point sick.

Bring on the keto flu and the unpredictable poops.

Give me a week to dream a new me into existence.

Let me cut the fat. There’s nothing that

can stop me, not even me. I feel

my way through, grateful

to have all my fingers

to put a dent in the precedent.

I go from lost and found to found to lost often,

and that’s the slow waffle I get to eat today

as I find that I feel more with less.