Feast: Poems

The wind speaks. It provides form to what it rooted out. The sunlight closes. White curtains framing the darkish evening. the hearth is closed and saved. The murmuring slows. I see the grass and the naked neck of a chicken. He watches over the decanting of dolphins. The bone is inverted. this night we sleep in paradise. Sacred rooster. l. a. Notte Di San Lorenzo The chicken is torn from the little bones, the darkish is heavier, it doesn’t flow. My arm will burn. while it drips, it's going to odor of me. The abdominal is gentle and sizzling. for those who gasp, I push my soul into you as though it have been a stamp glued on a tablecloth which I positioned right into a obvious plastic bag jam-packed with hot water. Finger within the water to unglue the stamp. below the parquet, the floor, below the floor, the snack bar. not anything there. The spurts are your vibrant snickers. I should still start to write that the cuirass is rainy, free, that you simply step away, that you don’t seize it, poof! like a idiot, you slightly contact it. initially of the evening I’m blessed, in my desires heads crack, yellows and reds squirt up from in the back of the mountains, then a region thoroughly black, useless, to wake me up and make me ask what died. on the other hand, I’m boiling within the pot and water simmers and that i wait to work out if we relatively made it out. Language is a hook, it catches not anything. I’m too younger to be humble. They wiped clean up my computing device. The physique ate the flesh of language. Poof! I ship a teach, a steam engine. It runs to widen you, ultimately you break up in . Hooked in your physique, it is going no additional. The steam engine leaps. basically it may pop out on the neck. i want to maintain the pinnacle dean, the cranium with the entire pores and skin, the entire hair, all of your arranging of your hair. I felt blood less than your cutting block. The doe turns right into a poultry and takes flight. It’s heavy. It slightly will get off the floor. Branches rub the stomach of the doe, that's now grey. I’d like this type of bar. no use to be a grill. it can be a grill in which water drains from the road. a bit greater. I’d positioned you there. I’d set a fireplace beneath. Jonah excitement writes heritage. Bombs resemble human eggs. You tear them off and throw them round. They rut. Shepherds wake within the hills. you spot, a grenade falls in your head, it’s touchdown there. those who have been served grew bored. nonetheless I by no means observed a whale. Supposedly it swims within the sea. Supposedly you could stick a mast via its eyes. the day before today they killed my darling Jeffrey Dahmer whereas he used to be cleansing a loo. He had eaten seventeen younger males and resulted in blood. energy is usually inherited, by no means divided. And if a physique is unraveled we mend it. energy can't evaporate. It renews itself on solemn scaffolds. We, the folks who wade in blood, we’re erotic and engaging. We write chic poetry. Temple 1 the place there's not anything to assert the sunshine of disappearance exists. 2 Time strikes. Lava glows. i'm beneath the gutter, a silent mushroom. Copper rocks. The flame is mute. That’s for me. poor. That’s for me. three Little nook, little purple dry nook. who's the spring? I’m buried right here with you.