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delicious invalid food


Sweet summertime

of New York’s empty city

The taller the tower

the hazier the cloud

Ring around my raspberry flavored mind


The shape of an egg

reminds me what we like to see

In New York the vinegar is wine

In New York there is only fruit and labor

The bread comes as quickly as they can bake it up

comes as quickly as is, goes

At 1 a.m. I get home

and wonder how I got here.


Sherried prune, salted caramel

I create for you

A masterpiece that words speak and no one ever tastes

Star tipped campground

Delight, magical inverted

Question of timing, precise

At the moment of slicing

A seasoning that is fascinating

But hardly a well kept


A burnt egg is meringue

Of a sort that pleases the eye

And no one complains.


Marc says he’s going to make a raspberry soufflé for the menu

Build your napoleon with the neat edged needles

Push saucing sauce around the plate

Push broadly

Eliminate the chaos of the misdirected

Lines on a plane

Where no shadows

Fall and one shape is the other of the color

Scoop the fruit and sugar

Down around the clowning fruit, papaya pineapple kiwi and

Textured shore of pecan pebbles

Caramel glazed miroir mountain.


Doesn’t even look like a strawberry

And the perspective is all off on the

Mint leaf.  A canyon is created from

The photo’s snapping shutter all the while

Canyon snaps and creaks crumbs, but none tumble.

No crumbs on the plate and no resistance

From us or for the photographic eye

But perspective is all off, cream is sharp

The plate so stiff, so expensive I can

See my future in it, a reflection

Breakaway flashes on the station’s steel

Lighting set for actors of a scriptless

Sensationalism, I see you now

Offer you a peach that tastes like gold.


Love Poem for Jacek at the Mangia Bakery down on Wall street

Jacek bends a knee and crouches toward the mixing bowl

Of a 60 quart


Bulb, warehouse

that he painted himself, floor to ceiling yellow, color of butter

Story of sugar

Covering the mixer

And the floor, where, his knee leans and he folds


Armpit deep in sweets

That early morning coffee don’t even cut

By the time you get out of work here you can’t even remember how you got here

It was the train

But it was so dark it was daylight-less dawn belonging to last night

How can so many people wake up and come straight

To Wall Street?  But to clean up, to fasten, to check, to bake

To measure, to cut, to scrape

To end tired, and happy, in the middle of the day.  The day changes

into a different thing, has a different form, and


Don’t taste anymore

And everyone works faster and faster when the album comes around again

Techno bakery, means to an end, and

How does anyone speak to anyone else this early, and

How does anyone see where they are going, next week I’ll stay out all night and stumble here straightaways

See Jacek, Polish, good humored, young heart, old face, buttery arm

Rosy cheeked

White pants, paper hat, 3:30am.

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