Executive Dysfunction
I could make a sandwich.
Or couldn’t.
It can be both ways.
Lettuce dances around the kitchen.
Gasping as if you just woke up.
It’s noon but nothing is real.
I couldn’t make a sandwich.
Just grabbed a snack like a vampire who can’t sleep ever.
Dancing around like a spider bouncing.
Or like gravity pulling every way.
Spirals are like corn on the cob.
Nothing is like lunch except food.
And there’s dishes everywhere and no food sometimes.
Or food but it’s too tightly packaged.
There is no reason why I can’t make lunch.
Just getting bored of hunger.
Dried up feelings of boredom.
And lively jumping around dancing feelings.
Sparkling non-cooking, non-cleaning life.
I could make a sandwich or not.
I could untie the knots around me.
Invisible, dancing feelings.
Noon and I just woke up too disintegrated crumbs.
I could.
It’s both ways.
I could and couldn’t.
They don’t know growling hunger.
Like me.
But I got lazy.
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