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.