I hurt myself with a baguette today.
While I was eating it,
shards of crust stabbed my lip.
It felt delicious.
I only want to eat like this, from now on.
I want the food to fight back.
It tastes better that way
and makes me feel more like a shark.
Take the mighty blowfish, for example,
who can kill a man
with poison, long after it,
itself, is dead on a plate.
Or the precious ortolan,
who must be drowned in Armagnac
in order to taste just so,
obviously, of course.
No more insipid bagels.
Only food with dignity
will pass these lips
scratching, kicking, biting, stinging.