Marinated Chops

Oh, God!

I woke up sizzling!
Left rear range,

chopped up,
marinated and lubricated,

giant
hands of circumstance
thrashing
me around gridiron with prickly
fingered sticks,

boneless.

Without hands to reach out
to the other pieces
frying,
roasting inches away from me.

Skinless.
Heartless.
Helpless.
Hopeless.

Left lonely with chunks of
thick bloody substance that
I was delivered with,

the delicate meat
that
made me whole,

without a mouth to
vocalize
my own company.

I miss them already!

The heat is getting heavy, I have
been left
simmering
since
sun progression – damn light!

Waking me up
to this!

 

Spread Your Life For Me

Raw behind the rib cage
bulging
ready!

Jaw extended
– attack –
to tear flesh
to expose
protected
delicate
four-chambers

for consummation

thick
red
life
quenches desire
for life to resume

thick
red
life
spreads itself across
empty
longing

a blanket
for a barren
wasteland

for nothing more
than
a
product

of a Hoarder and
an Unprotected
Heart.

Who Is The Empty One

The baby’s swing
swinging emptily
swinging next to me

blankly
watching the empty
swing –
back and forth
swinging steadily

the baby’s swing
swinging melodically
listening lethargically
as it swings next to me
the baby’s swing
swinging emptily

squeaking and creaking
and looking at me
watching me
sit so emptily.

The Stew

I am cut into pieces, boiling
in a stew. A quarter cup of the fingers have been
diced away along with
a chunk of the right breast,
both little toes,
the bones and muscle in the
right forearm, a kidney,
and the fallopian tubes.

Salt dances painfully on the wounds of
what remains of the body. I cry out for some relief!
There is nothing.
Anesthesia will not behave!

The stew boils about, my pieces
become soft and
flesh falls from bone. The crockpot screeches
with the heat – it knows!
But, I do not blame the crockpot. It
must perform it’s duty.
No choice for a hunk of metal!

I scream again! The pain! Where is comfort?
Where is solace?

Ah! Cooking wine!
Take care of my wounds.
Take the pain away…..
After some time, the alcohol performs it’s own duties.
I relax!

I hope the stew makes it to all those empty mouths!