Omelet Man

Oblivion is your toast and butter,
dogma are the eggs, never
    sunny side up,
            always over easy.
For breakfast there is evil in the world

or, if evil is busy,
indignity without embarrassment.
A man laying on his side covered by a

zebra print blanket, his collie's leash
lashed to a huge acorn tree

which boils bright green above him.
At the edge of a Walgreen's parking lot,

within sight of a K.F.C.,

masturbating rhythmically to traffic.
Word is he's supplying the jelly.
    Black-
           berry, strawberry,
or Amishly elegant apple butter…
    any manner of heated bread

he will return to you coated.
Some folks are born
            to be
looked away from, so why not

  behave as if no one
was there? Oatmeal is where
    their skin comes from, and
where, indeed, it

shall end. Better with a dollop
   of butter, a drizzle of
               maple or agave.
In company of bowl and spoon.
An omelet is a man who can pretend.