June 4, 2011

• More from before

  A Product of Butchery

  (going bad in the freezer)

  I feel comfortable on a platter
  being served up fresh and hot
  but, to me, it doesn’t matter
  if I satisfy you or not

  because all I have to do most times
  is just my standard shtick
  without worrying when I get done
  or if I make you sick

  I am proud to be a commodity,
  a savory piece of meat,
  a tempting culinary delicacy,
  most importantly, a treat

  and knowing I am sought-after
  without previously being tried
  esteem for me is flattering
  but chokes me on my pride

  I feel the same way most foods feel
  when, left-over from indulgence,
  being dealt with like a daily meal
  with small thanks for grand performance

  I am more than happy to satisfy you
  if you promise to relish me
  but the same old flavors will never do
  unless one thing is all you want to be

  I’m meat… it doesn’t  matter to me

  left again, right?

  I was left too
  on a doorstep, piss drunk
  and dishevelled
  out of hand

  and a proper lady told me
  how her husband
  made a living… and then dying

  wish for her a fond forgetting
  wish for me a jealous smile
  as the heart may wear a badge
  inside an overcoat

  Screwing

  With a continual twisting effort
  ever deepening in assertion
  like a spiral or a coil
  into a hole..
  a helix, one could say
  inhaled like haze in hell
  but not exactly that way,
  it’s sucked into the soul
  with all the geometry
  that begins to like tooling around
  with a dimension it doesn’t grasp too well

  It attaches things to things
  and tightens and holds
  and strips and breaks
  works loose, lets go
  a little slip is all it takes
  for the weight to become
  too tenuous to uphold,
  it’s nothing but physics
  extending logic beyond the wheel
  as a favorite way of keeping stuff in place
  and with some consternation
  like when information boggles
  it’s the way one, often stupidly
  might rearrange one’s face

  • 2:09 am
  • 2 Comments