“I mean, if the spaghetti hits the fan, now we’re really in trouble.”
—Gen. Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott) in Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove
swimming with spaghettis
around your neck
your death
nears,
the color of spaghetti sauce
almost the color of
and you look
like me, er, like meat
ready for dinner, whichever—
ready-to-eat,
each
a ready meat,
ready me
ready to eat,
in spaghetti sauce!
ideally in communist countries
they serve dinners for
the whole community
which in democratic countries
are self-served
tho individuals have
a choice . . .
but their choice engulfs them
in desire that
they become too
noisy to ever notice other
dreamers
dreaming of swimming
in sad wine after
getting bits of pork.
in communist countries
they serve dinner for
the whole community,
ideally, but their communities
engulf them in such
a passion that
they become too
noisy to ever notice lone
dreamers
dreaming of swimming
in unique recipes after
getting sauce.
whoosh! whoosh!
we look like meat—er, meet
let us!?
ready to cook, ready-to-eat
ready meat, ready to eat—
never mind the sauce
reminding you of,
or precisely coz sauce
is almost the color of
is almost the color of
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