#dish
I don't like noodles,
like, trust me, I really don't.
I'd rather have a meal of fried rat skin
with a bowl of crocodile eyes to lick,
finished with a bouncy jelly of congealed goat's blood —
this is how much I don't like noodles.
But she says I like it,
this woman,
her skin like the inside of a well-baked cake,
"You look like someone who eats a lot of noodles."
I look at her,
her eyebrows like a silky bush.
I can hear it —
shifting in the wind above the islands her eyes are.
I look at her lips, and my stomach grumbles.
I want it...
I want it — the way a lost child wants the call of his mother.
and the dimples that God has given her,
i am fighting,
squeezing my buttocks together, so I don't say those words.
So right now I'm at home
licking my plate.
I cooked it with bell peppers,
too many onion rings
diced scent leaves,
and a teaspoon of oil.
I think I like noodles now.
Dec 20, 2025
Dec 20, 2025 at 1:24 AM UTC
the server (waiter) raps
praise upon the sushi,
its integrity,
the harmonic
of its construct,
the curated singularity of
each rice grain
the innate elegance of
the thin sliced,
nearly translucent,
au naturel, organic,
ginger root
the skin smooth paste of
green wasabi,
grown naturally
along stream beds in
mountain river valleys in Japan
genuinely puzzled,
when he,
the old erstwhile poet
unabashedly weeps before all
no hero he,
just an overcome one,
his tears flavoring his food
mourning the
celebrated abuse
of his verbal children,
those natured nurtured babes
the stuff,
the words of his definition
each weird word,
loved for their cultured,
unique quality of their history
grown in languages's
perpetual petri dish
asked if something was a matter,
answered yes,
"this plated performance,
such an extravagant essay
on the beauteous wonder
of life's bounty,
left me wordless"
and she, burst out loud in laughter
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 8:03 AM UTC
Stupidity is a dish
that's best not served
at all
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
Tik Tok
Is it morning again?
Do I have to wake up?
Tik Tok
I like this dish
But it doesn't taste the same anymore
Tik Tok
My hair's a mess
But so is my life
Tik Tok
I have to go out
Oh no, face the world
Tik Tok
I'm out for so long
Do I have to go back? Is it home?
Tik Tok
The day passed and it was uneventful. Or was it?
Did I do something wrong? Did something happen?
Tik Tok
Is it morning again?
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
You were like breadcrumbs
left unpurposely by my digestion during breakfast
You stayed on the kitchen table 'til noon,
'til Mama swiped away the remaining crumbs,
and I have lunch
with another dish--a different meal.
Something else, but not
you.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC
Oh please don't leave me on the side
Sidekick, this side dish life is not what I'm about
I'm going down with speakers blaring loud
I'm swinging from every angle, gotta keep it proud
keep my head above the noise and
the fan blades chopping through everything
my head is too full of ghosts and scissors
I am a loser, need to find me a winner
take me out to dinner
spill your contents into me and after
I won't find me another, I'm too full of disaster
too full to ask her
what she's doing out this late
empty my plate
I am not a side dish
but I still act like one.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
Bull ****
He repeats
So frequent
No wonder
It may be his
Favorite dish
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 3:56 AM UTC
I'd silt there beside a barb wired fence
and once praised these vagaries again
then yesterday at daybreak
as aft-dew came this flow-r
and hit hers in between rows of attire
where her beauty was herd in raindrops today
and altogether was something very big
with milk and honey in a market of wares.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC
At dinner for two
I chose a tasting menu.
Chatter was pleasant,
Until the sous-vide pheasant.
Conversation digressed:
My faults were expressed.
I did not forsee,
A deconstructed m
e.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC
I'm forever circling over the tree tops
I don't have to flap my wings, I just glide non stop
Just trying to find some place to land
For your clock was stoped, you've ran out of sand
Don't worry no pain I bring
You won't feel a thing
I will feast upon your rotting flesh
It is my very favorite dish
I will gobble it all down even the wiggling maggots
And whatever else there inhabits
I do my circling dance in the sky
Just to let others know that near by
Something must have died, and lays baking in the sun
And I will soon be having fun
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
Every dainty dish of love
she rapturously serve him
has an unmistakable distinct flavor!
He repeatedly wonder, often aloud,
that what would be the magic she applies,
in her smashing haute cuisine ensemble.
When,
it's love, like butter, pure and dense
in large dollops,with it's flavor invariable,
is the one constant major ingredient,
in every which dish she cooks;
for all his questions, persistent and curious,
her answer would be just a smile mysterious.
In their love life enviable, this one thing
still remains the million dollar question!
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Adoring you is uncomplicated. The way in which, refreshment comes with your ravishment is treasured spectacle, and though your fans are many, this one broods. Pining for glimpses into your tortured terrine, stories of unplumbed eternity, depths of you, titillate. How more curious you become as onion peels, layers on layers. A sweet onion I might add. Yet still, one that brings tears. Tears, joyous tears, cliche of cliche, reconcile charm with burden of unknowing how an allium could come into a world, stinking, but make gourmet a dish.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
The pile of pine burned with ferocity
While fields of watermellon wore green in generosity
Jerimiah delivered rows of assiduous thoughts
Fertilized in decisions made years ago
Margaret was from Huntsville , working on a divinity degree
She was small , rode a bicycle , studying infinity
Timid , not unlike a titmouse in spring
Margaret had a sister named Judy
Jerimiah left for the mountains of Colorado
He took only his last name Johnson
He spent winters hibernating with the bears
He learned to have no fear and grew a long beard
Tennennessee is in Alabama , just south of Huntsville
A snowslide almost buried Jerimiah
Margaret moved to North Carolina
got married and that's all I know
Jerimiah made tracts in the snow . . . go
He sat above the devide looking down
Sometimes west when the sun went down
But mostly east under the full moon
Howling so forlornly the wolves cry
Margaret looks west every night
Then sheds one tear
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:21 AM UTC
We meet for afternoon coffee
For this I reckon
I would fancy a waffle with it.
How are you?,
The first sentence of the last conversation about me and you.
While dipping a piece of my waffle
In the whipped cream
I did not order,
I have a thought.
We have never been
More than a side dish;
Like a waffle I would
Every so often ask for.
To sweeten this life
I require more.
I still prefer to take
My coffee black, as plain as my heart.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC