Thursday, May 31, 2007



No Tarte Bakery


Cup is empty, spilled
quarter by eighth


into cake of ashes,
bonedust. Spoon


minus table- and tea-.
Unhinged springform,


amorphous bundt. Sugar
dissolved, rippled


down drain. Powder, soda
whisked away. Praise


cookie no more,
praise nothing.


Once pie bubbled
golden with crowns --


not again. Rattle the lock,
lose the key. No taste,


no scent, no
filigree swirl


of icing. Not
a crumb.

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