Since the North Star collapsed and pulled its mass
into a shrinking singularity
and the Drinking Gourd started to tell lies,
I’ve been stuffing my face with black hole cake.
My hunger, addict, keeps demanding more
as I watch the light swirling down the drain.
I’m scared to death to step on the bathroom scale.
I’ve already ordered new plus-size jeans.
Twenty pounds since the start of the big suck –
the naked emperor, the sycophants,
the idiots with megaphones, the greed,
and me searching the kitchen cabinets
past midnight for something, something. As light
cascades over the event horizon.