Ketchup, mustard, vinegar, mayo, gravy, cheese sauce, and aioli

I close my eyes 
allow the aroma to ensconce 
my entire essence 

spuds concealed a different reality 
when they are grown inside of harvested snakes 
no one ever discussed realities 
and the ability to allow them 
to be relinquished, entrenched 
inside the plasma soiled terra firma 
we currently reside on – diminished 
realities in the absence of critical 
thought. dreamy landscapes 
offer themselves to the alter 
a sacrifice must be agreed upon 

everything in life 
has a price, bits of soul
ripped and discarded
to the elements 

at times in vain 
where fact is melted 
with drama, and realties 
are merged with infinitely 
dreamy landscapes

I do not wish to reside 
in world that disapproves 
of the aptitude of verity 

a subconscious which terrorises 
absent of anything good 

a loud voice echoed... 

Cashier “order up, what do you want 
with your fried honey?”

I barely hear the cashier... 

Me: “I am sorry ma’am 
I did not hear what you 
said.” 

(My mind was completely 
in a state of thought that could
not be quickly propelled 
back to the forefront.Although, 
I could not tell her that.)

Cashier: “I said, order up honey, your
fries are ready; what do you 
want to dip your fries in?”

My response: “Oh, um thanks, 
I think this time I will take the hot
mustard; I am getting sick of ketchup.”

Cashier: “Here you go, have a good 
night.”

My response: “Thank you very much!”

(How am I supposed to have a good 
night when the entire state of the universe
resides in a perpetual state of idiocy.)