Prompt: "Write about your best and worst meal."
Title: "Cathartic, Culinary"
Alt. Title: "Purgative, Palatable"
Worst
Once I was taken to a room of my own invention,
led by the faceless, fearless constructs of my mind.
Waiters served the table my thoughts and
words and past actions and then I was forced,
or rather, compelled by hunger up on my product--
talking seventeen years of chow!--I talk.
I was sick within minutes, the self, food dribblin'
my mouth, managing to empty my bust cheeks
by a slow slurp every few chews. That was horrible.
But by the end of a month, I was full, fed, and finished.
I attribute much of my success hence from this act.
Stomaching one's self, as it happens,
is the hardest part of the human condition.
Best
Once I ate the supplies of a marooned island-castaway
just to speed the process, and once I licked the tears off
the face of a bereaved poet only to spit it in her face.
I think I will tell you another culinary anecdote though,
one which will expand upon my worst, the first.
Like picking at scabs, the nose, too, yields results.
I gave myself a nosebleed. And what did I do?
Ha ha, I raised my head to the ceiling, the roof,
the skies, to God and his cruel intentions.
Ha, I laughed, ha, I did. I thanked him for it;
and head up-turned I let course, I drank.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
Prompt: "Write about your best and worst meal."
Title: "Cathartic, Culinary"
Alt. Title: "Purgative, Palatable"
Worst
Once I was taken to a room of my own invention,
led by the faceless, fearless constructs of my mind.
Waiters served the table my thoughts and
words and past actions and then I was forced,
or rather, compelled by hunger up on my product--
talking seventeen years of chow!--I talk.
I was sick within minutes, the self, food dribblin'
my mouth, managing to empty my bust cheeks
by a slow slurp every few chews. That was horrible.
But by the end of a month, I was full, fed, and finished.
I attribute much of my success hence from this act.
Stomaching one's self, as it happens,
is the hardest part of the human condition.
Best
Once I ate the supplies of a marooned island-castaway
just to speed the process, and once I licked the tears off
the face of a bereaved poet only to spit it in her face.
I think I will tell you another culinary anecdote though,
one which will expand upon my worst, the first.
Like picking at scabs, the nose, too, yields results.
I gave myself a nosebleed. And what did I do?
Ha ha, I raised my head to the ceiling, the roof,
the skies, to God and his cruel intentions.
Ha, I laughed, ha, I did. I thanked him for it;
and head up-turned I let course, I drank.
put in verse just now, but written ages ago
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