Ok, this is a kind of poem that I… I don't… kind of thing that I don't usually write… write about. You know, it's the sort of topics of… of the moment in ladies' magazines and health magazines and newspapers and all stuff like that there. This is called Fast Foods: a Rap Rondeau. Not a rondo, that's a musical form. It's a rondeau; it's one of those French fancy forms. You've got 16 lines and only two rhymes. And I call it a rap rondeau because, well, like… like rap lyrics, there's a lot of extra rhymes and sound echoes in it of different sorts. And it is about fast foods.

With fast foods, you've got to feast since you can't fast-

In next to no time, you feel famished, though

You're looking paunchy, fat-haunched, and flab-assed

And by now the force-fed figure you've amassed

Hamstrings your frame. Getting enough comes slow

With fast foods.

Like fast fucking. Simone Weil warned: we know

Appetites from addictions by an acrid contrast

In their satisfactions: that is, by how long they last.

You can get too much bread: there is no

Such thing as enough cocaine. Hungers turn vast

As lunar landscapes, where you range, aghast

At your own emptiness. With time, those faux

Fixes that should fill lust's vacuums cast

-rate you. Both flesh and flesh's cravings grow

With fast foods.