Bliss Point or What Can Best Be Achieved by Cheese

A.k.a.

        the other gold.

                 Now that's the stuff,

                         shredded or melted

                                   or powdered

                                         or canned.

                                                    Behold

                                  the pinnacle of man

                    in a cheeto puff!

   Now that's the stuff

                     you've been primed for:

                                         fatty & salty & crunchy

            and poof—gone. There's the proof.

Though your grandmother

                    never even had one. You can't

                               have just one. You

                                        inhale them puff—

                                                            after puff—

                                                        after puff—

                            You're a chain smoker. Tongue

                   coated & coaxed

but not saturated or satiated.

                    It's like pure flavor,

                             but sadder. Each pink ping

                                              in your pinball-mouth

                                                      expertly played

                       by the makers who have studied you,

                         the human animal, and culled

               from the rind

your Eve in the shape

                           of a cheese curl.

                                       Girl,

                           come curl in the dim light of the TV.

                       Veg out on the verge of no urge

               of anything.

Long ago we beached ourselves,

                      climbed up the trees then

                             down the trees,

                                  knuckled across the dirt

                  & grasses & thorns & Berber carpet.

                             Now is the age of sitting,

                      so sit.

And I must say,

         crouched on the couch like that,

              you resemble no animal.

                     Smug in your Snuggie and snug

                                    in your sloth, you look

                               nothing like a sloth.

And you are not an anteater,

                     an anteater eats ants

                                   without fear

                        of diabetes. Though breathing,

      one could say, resembles a chronic disease.

                                                                          What's real

                  cheese and what is cheese product?

                  It's difficult to say

     but being alive today

                        is real–

                                 real–

                                       really

                   like a book you can't put down, a stone

            that plummets from a great height. Life's

         a ''page-turner" alright.

             But don't worry

                                if you miss the finale

                                        of your favorite show, you can

                                            catch in on queue. Make room

                                 for me and I'll binge on this,

                                                   the final season with you.