fastidious,
and that this
is an attack—
but I hate it
when people say things
are "like crack."
It's like—everything
in the kitchen,
on the menu,
on the planet
is like that;
it's repellent
and degrading
to addicts,
and I've had it.
In fact,
it's doubly dismaying
when I track
my despondence,
because I've never before
found my attention
so absorbed.
I mean, even
the specific
way in which I
just can't stand it
is a feeling I
seem to want
more
and more and
more of.
