There will always be a dish
that can’t be choked down:
the giant lima bean, or,
the slimiest of oysters.
Uruguayan mystics, the most
profound, say: each utterance
proffers purpose and accident.
So if a syllable or two
bellies up to the bar, boisterous
for shots of Patrón
and emerges in a blur,
forgetting its noun, all the better
to eat you with, my dear
says the tricky wolf of language:
what’s meant to be
will happen, anyway, with/
out the crutch of cliché.