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We know that we were lied to, the disaster was worse than we feared.

Let those shadows sift the spirits of their children from the silt.

The raven cocked its black eye, dipped its beak in the red pool.

home is his hands, our bowls, so many gay fridge magnets.

I bought chips from the one open store, but can’t figure out how to eat them.

He can’t remember the last time they made love. It has become a game.

The wine was administered to Theo’s lips, and then the rest of us.

Break me like bread. Take me apart. Strip each rib down to light.

We skip across the surface like a stone slung by a giant travel agent.

In the Nablus apartment she remembers rolling hills of citrus.

You quickly find nothing interests people so much as themselves.

It was as the angel speaking of Isaac, a deception, a test to survive.

Smoke and stock and toasted chili flakes. The garlic at marshmallow tan.

Mistaking water hemlock for parsley, I die hours later in the hospital.

Dining at Bocuse wasn’t about food, but about pleasure in all its forms.

I must never go to the garden without a heavy stick or a corn-knife.

Gotta watch them damn sorry folks he sez they leave the best stuff.

Just sugar cubes and a crop for you. Salt licks to smart the tongue.

What if it does choose, the egg, I mean, her favorite spermatozoon.

I eat what’s in front of me, as all great men do. Some wouldn’t, but I do.

Put out to pasture, flop down into clover, alternate to the glue factory.

The sedan clipped their front bumper and pitched Bill’s car into a slide.

Eating a raw oyster is like exchanging a soul kiss with the sea.

The danger was my own carelessness, and now I was waist deep in it.

My daughter swallows arrows of sunlight on her way to the grave.

Que voulez-vous? I said. Patisserie, she said and smiled. Pastry, I said. Well, that’s predictable.

It will be years before the kids see us as real people, not just as parents.

A pie can’t go to college, work hard for the grades, two jobs on the side.