When I feign Jewish confession, 

I whisper to Adoni in hushed,

apologetic tones: is the human condition 

to try and surpass all that is unremarkable?

How terrible would it be,

if the universe bowed down 

to the mediocrity of neither fork nor spoon, 

but a hybrid, blending the very being 

of both. To be a Spork is to understand your

short stumps are vestige of your father fork,

the shallow cup your mother spoon. 

You mustn't mistaken yourself.

Your very existence is useless,

or so I told you all your life. 

Screeched it in your ears until 

You became a fragmented fraud 

of my own making.