This dark chocolate from only
Papua New Guinea tastes
nothing like a Diet Coke or
even the fantasy a Diet Coke
had to be something more.
Actually it would politely
be called “earthy,” I guess
somebody could have added
soil or forgotten to wash it but I
could not explain the difference.
I am not wearing the clothes
summoned from the clouds via
my invocation of credit.
In the catalog they were perfect
two days later now they have
become a thin polyester frock.
They make their home away in
my closet until I evict them un-
worn back where they came from.
So many things come to me
when I am sleeping or awake
and in the shower or anywhere
carried across the air and
over the ground by a network
of hands I will never shake
to converge on me promptly but
I never wanted them before and
I have no room for them now,
their rough paper wrapping coated
with the journeydust leftovers
of one hundred human souls
left as a toy for my cats.