everyone in the infomercials seems too happy and maybe that’s why I can’t sleep

the actors tear apart grilled cheese on tv

and it’s like the sandwich is my body

unsticking. the comparison doesn’t fit

but neither does the toaster they are selling

to my kitchen. I am studying

how to grow and cuddle beetroots now.

I am stirring homemade lavender oil.

I am slipping in and out of continuums

in stilted black and white

and suddenly spilling everything

with broken hands. sell me oven gloves.

a cocoon with sleeves. in front of my tv

I learn: there is no better time

to roll over and resurrect again than at 4am.

but I know the commercials aren’t for me.

I am centering this around myself

when it’s more about a set of rubbermaid containers.

still, I call the 1-800 number to ask

if they can save me.

but they are not paid to do that.

they only show the programming.