Friday, February 22, 2013


crinkle fries, i thought i had lost you.
The Store stopped carrying you that long year ago.
i fretted on the inside that i would never taste that distinctive ridge
and have to settle for those boring straight smooth poles.

then, lo, what sound should i hear
but the tap-tap-tap of a worker bee stocking.
crinkle fries had returned! they had fucking returned!
the smallest of victories keeps my heart ticking.

nothing better, save sex, than biting down on that first hot mound,
letting the roof of your mouth burn with passion,
potato newly-microwaved and Ramsay disapproval
livens up the buds more than any chili sauce's slather.

while eating, my brain kicks in from the brain food,
bread is the staff of life after all.
these days, research amounts to youtubing

back in the days when everything was covered up,
and you fucking cooked fries in the stove,
all-righta honest pickers, fieldworkers, and peelers
will rightly feed humanity's move.

how does one begin to describe a love so great?
surely a keyboard and blank screen don't suffice,
when i am alone, always alone,
crinkle fries allow me to continue the fight.

one day i shall marry a famous authoress,
the fact that she's famous will make the sex extra cummy.
until then, i bide my time, hiding the chair,
and know i can rely on the salty, starchy yummy.

when roommates are impossibly disagreeable about a cat,
when my world keeps fading down bit by bit,
when i realize that all hope is lost,
i try to get things back greeable,
and fail as i've always done.
dreaming of an authoress hug in the future
doesn't erase the bright pain of now,
now there is loneliness and the dream of a hug,
now there are empty spaces inbetween my head,
now there aren't enough words to type:
now is when i have lunch
walls have been punched
life has me crunched
sucking and such is such
time for microwave lunch.


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