Wolfgang Puck
that's gourment upchuck
he's throwing up
his hands
those tools
that fashion foods
into S shapes
with a double II
passing through and
changing everything to gloss
like Mom with my name
L's in pancake batter
and Mickey Mouse's head
I wonder what it would be like
for Puck to buck the system
to say fuck-it
to enterprise
his shining pink face on a can
his grinning red cheeks on a box of frozen Puck (lunch)
Puck-y, I want to swim in the pool of your latest
signature restaurant
gurgling salt water 'stead of sherry
cuz my throat is sick
from all the gourmet sandwich de merde
I've been spreading my gums for
I'll be naked but for fish scales
spouting treacle like a chocolate fountain
my bust all perked like that
ice sculpture of Charlotte Corday on the lawn
she's a counter revolutionary badass
I can't help but respect
should I be bloody too
covered in hand pummeled tomato catsup
a perfect gore-met : je me gore met
I put gore on myself
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