He said, "It's really up to me
Who I do, what I eat, whom I love, how I see,
Breakfast, dinner, snacks and supper are mine,
My dreams, my deficiencies, my nature divine.
When the pie first arrived I couldn't really know,
Like some existential experience or fire down below,
I doubt my loose thoughts and my reckless intonation,
My life, my death and any predestination.
But the pie answered questions I'd just never asked,
Laid bare secrets and stories, revelations that flashed,
I held it for minutes, maybe hours, even days,
The scripts and algorithms, preprogrammed, preplayed.
Sense will someday prevail, humankind will reveal,
All dark struggles and plots, grievous injuries heal,
For I am what I am and I am also I,
When all fails, I'll remain with my macaroni pie."
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