A satisfied appetite is a simply joy

Overlooked and simplified

Like a growing urge, a salivating need

That is entrancing and glorified.



Everlasting for moments we call meals

Forgotten in time, lingering above

But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside

Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again



The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight

And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips

Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center

Halved and topped with mascarpone crème



The man with a skin of caramel glaze

Caressing and savoring

With a fragrance and scent

Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin



In the pursuit of a brief love affair

What oral sensation did my taste buds want?

My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await

Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff



Generous portions and humble pies

Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die


Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté

Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce

A robust aroma and savory appeal

Basil leaves with garlic strips

Olive oil to top the surreal


Hubristic meatball aborigine  

Elysian cuisine or many dreams


Teasing the senses, warming the pit

Of flowing pleasures

And tingling fingertips

Without moral measures

And succulent wines

Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone

Seasoned with Sicilian herbs

And paired with broiled asparagus

Drizzled with lemon juice


And a glass of Merlot

Spices I hardly know



Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows

With love there is pain, passion endured through the names

Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums

Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass


Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami

Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami


Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure.
Forever my endeavor

Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey
Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin

red-painted doors with cedar trim
crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread

devilish rounds of crumbling ***-swirl bread

Smells and wonders, tastes so ...

oh god

Divine and sublime.

Hi, it's me again.
Craig.
I ask for you, the reader, to hang-out.
As you and your friends read with enjoyment at my miserable life that I have created.
You have read my ad a dozen times,
"Hey! My name is Craig and I just moved to this town and am looking for friends to hang out with.  I am interested in sports, talking about anything and going out at night.  I'm a relaxed guy who is into meeting new people."

The truth is:

I was never very good at sports.
I got one hit in my little league career that my Dad would forcefully take me to each game.
I never understood why reading was, "the stupid choice" as he would say whilst dragging me by the collar of my baseball jersey.
Instead of playing a sport where a young boy with not nearly respectable motor-skills
would proceed to hurl a ball as fast as he could at me.
But, when I got my one hit I stood there in shock and immediately
got thrown out before I even made it half way to first base.
That was stupid.

I do not really talk all that much.
In college they nick-named me, "****** Craig".
As you can tell, I did not go to Creative College University.
I liked studying and would spend most of my nights in the library fixated on chemical engineering.
I always thought if I studied hard enough I would be able to create my own friends through different variable compound genetics.
It did not work out.
And that is the story of how I mutated my gerbil...

I have no friends to go with at night, except Butterball.
She's my eight year-old tabby cat.
I tell her all the gossip in the world when we watch "The Soup" together.
Her personality is rather complacent.  
She does not understand the irony in Kanye West naming his child North.
I know she is just being stubborn.

I often Google search Images for Kate Upton.
She does not know it yet, but we are perfect for one another.
I can tell.
There is this feeling I get when I bring one of her pictures into photoshop
and count all the pixels that make up the perfect woman.
There are seventy-four pixels within the iris of her eye where her soul lies.
Each one unfolds into the life we will soon have one-day...

I order the same pastrami on rye sandwich
from the same deli
at the same time
every Tuesday and Friday of each week in hopes
that they will get excited when I walk in.
I leave them a dollar tip
each time
even though I am picking it up myself.
They still treat me like an average customer.
A simple nobody.

I have the face people want to punch.
I often will get into fights by simply just standing there.
It does not add up or make coherent sense.
It seems as though people revert back to primal instincts when they drink alcohol.
Suddenly this area in line at McDonald's is this guys main priority.
I politely back away and him and his five high-school buddies cut in front of me.

To the entire world:
I am ordinary.
There is nothing worse in this life than being ordinary.
But, to some person at some special point:
I will be extra-ordinary.
And I will have the appreciation for that person that no other one person can ever understand.
Because, that person who finds me will have saved a life.
My life will restart anew with that love.
Thank you.

Sincerely,
Craig-
*********
Location: Everywhere your eyes will judge.
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

I was making a sandwich
for the customer with green eyes
when Amanda came in and said,
"look for the printed word."
I had no idea what it meant
but I continued making the man's
turkey pastrami on rye.
She left without buying her usual
pumpkin cookie and soy chai latte,
extra foam of course.
Was this some sort of riddle,
about how a raven
is like a writing desk?

I looked through the produce
hoping to find a scrap of crumpled
paper among the peaches.
Then to the juice bar, even
sifting through the pulp of
discarded apples and kale.
I asked the cooks in the back
if they had seen any odd words
around, but they said no.
The intercom howled "Thank you
for shopping at Jimbooooo's…Naturally!"
when it hit me. I rushed back
toward the sandwich bar and
inspected the guacamole.
And the seed of the avocado
sitting next to it read,
"Neon fruit supermarkets
attract a lonely Whitman."

Gethsemane
Butterflies, fawns, the quiet trickle of a nearby stream.
Apostles argue.
Again
Some want pizza
Others teriyaki
A few want pastrami from Moshe's Deli in Nazareth

"Brothers. Time is short," said Jesus quietly,
"Let us not argue. I have brought a potato. Let us share."

The Apostles look at each other in dismay.
A potato?
What is this another f*cking parable?
They were hungry and impatient.

"Look JC," said Simon
"You're the Messiah and all, but we were hoping for something a little
more substantial."

"I bid you peace, Brother," said Jesus, covering the potato with a plain cloth.

He began the customary blessing for this type of food.
The Apostles bowed their heads respectfully.
One by one they closed their eyes in prayer
Sanctifying the simple meal that was before them.

Minutes passed
Stomachs growled
Apostles began to fidget.

Without warning Jesus shouted,
"Chabada Kedavra,"
and lifted the cloth, revealing a whole roasted chicken beneath.

The Apostles clapped their hands in delight at Jesus' latest miracle.
"Faith feeds us in many ways," said Jesus.
"Amen," said the Apostles in unison....

Completely missing
The KFC bag

That Jesus was sliding
under the table
with his sandaled foot.

sometimes you ruin me.
you make me feel second rate, but you say i'm priority.
I want to nurture you back to health. I want to make a difference in the way you feel.
maybe that's selfish,
...yeah probably.
but sometimes sadness is selfish too.
We're victims to ourselves.
sometimes I don't want to feel better,
sometimes I need to feel blue -
and maybe so do you.
I will try to understand
even though there are things I never will.
like why it takes me feeling worse for you to feel better.
or why spicy pastrami can cheer you up more than I can.
or how oblivious we can be to the pain we subject each other to.
any effort I make is futile.
you undermind my attempts.
shame on me,
I don't learn
not to fix
broken things.

The pungent smell of the delicatessen shop.
Smoked meat and garlic tinged the stillness of the silent store.
Townsfolk scurrying by in a mighty dash.
Nightly off to the supermarket, to buy their daily wares.
Remember that smell?
Times have changed a tad.
Italian odour fills the air.
Pastrami rolls dangle in the window.
Pots of plastic passion in fridge below the counter.
The proprietor nips out the back to have another smoke.
Smell the odour, a vacuum full of spices.
The deli fell out of flavour a while ago, but still I taste that smell.
(C) Livvi

perch on stools
too high for short legs
elbows resting askew on
sawn wood table top

the smell of dill pickles
pefumong the air
we wait for the bagels
to arrive......

heaped with pastrami and onion jam
crumbling half melted sharp cheddar
dill pickles sliced acroos the top
a mountain of foodlove
on an old china plate

old time root beer floats
and a mound of serviettes
let the **** begin....
as we snarf and scoff
our way down to china

don't forget to buy
some bagels for breakfast either

lead me to temptation

you little bully of tequila, you're better than that, she whispered in my ear
and I decided to take it up a notch, that I did

and you hit the sweet spot for a little while and that is more than alight

take a large huff and puff and then win a game, you nectar ******* juicer ready to pounce on wheat bread, ha

lay it out and lay in on, lay the spicy mustard on the pastrami, please

please, and thank you, please and thank you

there's a song where they call them the magic words

and boy oh boy, isn't that a charming notion

As soon as I talk about ***,
They slap a label of explicitly,
Yet *** is a natural beauty,
That has been distorted as raunchy,
A taboo subject that is nasty,
Yet has created you and me.
So, sorry not sorry.
Imma discuss about it G.
So, check it.
My girl wetter than a tsunami,
Wanting my pastrami,
Which works for me,
Because I’m hungry for her cookie,
So, ***** where *** and food,
Becomes a imbued deli.
Carnal creatures popping off their cherries.
******* on my jerky like it was bubble tea.
As I’m munching on her nectarine.
A embrace more savoury,
Than a crispy cream.
Taking it to the shower,
Because I like it when her buns are steamed.
I treat my girl like a Queen,
She is more than her body.
I know saying this, isn’t mainstream.
But it’s important to dig in to it,
Like it’s a bowl of vermicelli.
My girls compassion is sweeter than ice cream.
And her laugh bounces like jelly.
She is a powerful force that some men might find scary.
But I personally find it ****,
Because she completes me.
Where I lack she helps me.
When I cry she comforts me.
The only one who understands the real me.
She imbues the deli of my soul,
And keeps me grounded like gravity.

I'll eat heathy and lose weight.
I'll shop for a livable diet,
Low carbs, nil sugar, no fat.
I will do better this year.
I'll draw more, paint more, eat more.
I'll surely do better now that I'm older and wiser.
No more German chocolate cake, fruit tarts,
Strawberries Romanov, pastrami on German rye,
Boullibaise, Fried Chicken, Schweinsbraten,
Ice Cream with Chocolate Sauce, Fat Burgers.
Marshmallows, Tater-tots, Twinkies, Pies
I shall do bet... Aw ***** it--
Prime rib and mashed potatoes tonight
And pancakes for breakfast!

A poet that floweth like a slow pour o Moët
over the ***** and *** of these ****** that
I gladly leave gushy in the deep of forest
To the bass pumped out by Skiitour its
About ******* time I got on my grind
My mind's on God but got money on my mind
Playwright lay pipe in any fine honey I find
No slob she won't slob the **** unless she a nine
The way my hands rest you'd think I carry a nine
No Luger don't confuse ya my response is nien
I'll machine my own drum with an automatic hum
Finna craft a set of meteoric iron guns
Got iron lungs ya son I **** chung
Never been bankrupt thank God when I wake up
Now this life is a dream hope I never wake up
Y'all thought I changed up I just kept doing my thang bruh

Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me
Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me

Water is for my plants Moët for when I pant
Ya heard me we drinking champagne when we thirsty
Hoes get wet when I dance, they check at my lance
Ya heard me feet burn like their eyes at girth of Yehud meat
I'm balling up they fall in love when our eyes meet
I ask where we goin for brunch she replied "surprise me"
Haven't even got her name yet this is not surprising
The absolute height of player is the surmising true glory
Of my biography made to movie based on true story
Bard cookin soft right, off white the sheen is all bright
This **** lookin hard like the all spark get lit all night
Bring your girl back to mines I live 5 blocks off Whyte
***** poppin pushing hot keys you can't stop me
Do not knock me or trust I just might rock three
Shots to your dome blaow return your *** home
You just a kid to this *** now get your *** grown

Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me
Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me

Krishnakov spittin that avtomat kalashnikov
Phone try and auto it yeah that ****** me off
Made me miss my bars getting hit by cars
Forgave still bear a scar "I'd never fare this far"
Is what I'll say to my ma if she ever pick up my calls
A bad and bodacious Badger's twerk had me lose a ball
Sad and loquacious had to work or I would lose it all
Never lose my calling I know God is offering
Won't listen to Satan and his calls for slaughtering
Although that's what I oughtta be doing, bartering
For style and influence the currency is Tegridy
You gotta survive through sewers, life is hella gritty
You could smell the city on them Jewel boys
But I pity the chains that they live and die for, fool ploys
Slave to the lower man, am I the last reporter in
This sorta wind swept world we take orders in

Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me

Your *** chokes on Kosher Salami when you **** with me
I beat on her Ocher pastrami while I roll up my trees
Pour Moët on the pink though **** leave it glistening
Your *** wet after a wink and 10 seconds of listening

barney chose his footsteps
whimsically
no deliberation
no destination
whimsy was his map and strategy
all night and day

"what’s happening, barney?"
"harpsichords, baby"
"what’s on the agenda?"
"pastrami and democracy"

and when barney picnicked in the park at 3 a.m.
and heard "give me your money, ******"
barney laughed a great laugh
and collapsed spreadeagle on the grass
the perplexed mugger straddled him
delivered a bemused punch to the jaw
and rummaged through barney’s every pocket
to find only pistachio nuts

Fried moth goth in a stew with your whiskey **** I ****** good **** today
and ****** you under a door mat with my long foot but I had ***** ******.
Why did jovi then go washing the rocks?
You spit on him like a gooky *****, why now do I see it?
Haha
When Jordan was there I still freed fire flies
"Do as thou wilt" which side are you on dude.. The side with another slice of pastrami.
I feel it so much more when it starts

My breakfast sandwich

Whole meal bread, lightly toasted,
a sliver of butter slowly melting
into crumbs of the future.
Green, crinkly lettuce a
foundation for a feast.
Beef pastrami with its shimmer
of pink and tinged transparent blue
surrounded by speckles of yellow,
red and green seasoning that
falls away into cling film as I lift it.
Sliced white onion, thin circles
of eye watering taste that grow
smaller and smaller towards the center.
Juicy red tomato, pulp and seed
exposed, dripping, mouth watering.
Each layered one upon the other
awaiting the peak of the sunny side up
egg whose golden yellow yolk will burst
and flood.
Crystalline white salt, a peck is just enough.
Finally, the Prince of Herbs, black pepper
ground from the mill to dust as garnish.

T