the last antipasti iii

trust me,
flake almonds upon me,
indulge in fulgent greens
i confound your troubles
with salubrious sheen
there is no knowledge
but sensation
so slide on in
to my dm’s
the merlot refill
unexpectedly chilled,
effervescent on your tongue
makes you cry yum, yum

confidence is recklessness
incarnate
so crunch my fibrous branches
so delicate
are you here for sublime?
or did you get lost looking for
the beige light district?
over by the camp
but closeted quarter?
oh yeah have another breadstick,
fill up on brie
i know you’ll be back for me

yum is a good word. the whole -um series is exquisite actually. bum. cum. dumb. gum. tum. what happened to fum? i guess it became thumb over time. ho hum. it sums. crumbs, what to make of the -umb paraseries?

it plumbs new depths of um phraseology. in this example, necessarily, to differentiate from plum. i wonder though, if there is something vulgar about the -um. u’s generally, feature heavily in the vulgar (fuck, cunt etc.). i feel someone thought – i don’t want anyone associating crums of bread with sex – let’s spell it with a subtle silent b – gentrify it a bit into crumb.

that’s my theory.

the last antipasti ii

mind the time
you over-ordered carbohydrates
a panicked salad reprobate
arancini, croquettes and chips,
you had a need that i could sate
pumped with protein
and polyphenols
light and taut
and a little bit special

june is a good month. may, the month of invitation, is my favourite month. but june is the month of the yawning day. it is a very special time in northern latitudes. happy memories of walking home from being out nightclubbing and the sun is up already and i’ve not even been to bed. after work, i can go out riding my bike in the country side. and, as i write, it’s warm. there is sunbathing to be had. tan lines to be burned. brocolli to eat.

the last antipasti i

broccoli can’t be a prize,
everyone says,
or would say
if inquired of.
but my stem’s tender
as a lover’s thighs,
crunchy with salt,
drenched in rendered
fat, yum
pair me with focaccia
and dipstick me
in extra virgin
verging on
extravagant…
a celebrity
of humble bent

hello, welcome to june and the final stanza of part 3 of my epic poem, the love epochal, ‘giletdonism’. i know that pride comes before a fall, obviously, but i think this is the best month of poetry by any poet ever and you, dear reader, are very lucky to get to read it all. the month, obviously, starts with a five part series about a tender stem broccoli.