Eating Words by Terrance Terich My cupboard is bare, nothing left but the books. Searching for the savory sustenance within leaves and pages turned with every lick of the finger. The bill of fare: To start, a stately Greene salad, paragraphs, fleshy and crisp, gnashed â€˜tween teeth and tongue. Decanting a robust bottle of Calvino syllables swirled and sloshed, or would I rather a domestic? A carafe of Salinger, vintage â€™53. Appetizer: Angel-haired Ferlinghetti, coiling words in strands on the twirling fork, succulent stanzas pouring from each sequential page. Main Course: A choice of a flaky and buttery Chicken Turgenev, or perhaps a smoky, cedar-planked Salman, all dusted with a scattering Pynchon of seasoning flavor. Dessert: Maybe a sweet slice of Flannery Though that might be a little too rich, Instead, a sugary slab of Malamud pie.