by heytherewildflower


Part 1
Bringing with him shadows of the rainforest,
a well mannered cannibal dunked his pinky finger
into a coffee mug, and, after a few stirs, removed it.
Suckling lustily upon it.

milk dripped down his chin and was caught
by the web of beard tangle.

Part 2
The chicken and mayo
churned in her stomach,
browned socks in a whirlpool
of mollusk-y detergent.

if she could vomit

if she could stop her life on the minute
if the sunshine weren’t so bone crunching cold
if the kink in her back hadn’t begun to grow moss in the damp.

She desired to be eaten, sucked raw of the moldering
by an appetite greater than her own.

Part 3
At twilight, a bird flew from
the bush, and it was just past twilight.

A bird in hand is nothing like a black bird
swerving out of nowhere into your face. A dry fop
to the snout; mouth stuffed with wings like puppies fur.

The night dimmed but her face
bore the scarlet mark of the bird:
it glowed in the settling green stain of the day’s end.
and it was her ultimate fear.

And the agony
of realizing it alone and no one could hear the shrieks,
both bird and human.

They say anger is just The Secondary Emotion
but it’s so fun.

if THE BOXER Ali  had been set on a chihuahua,
last night in my dream I throttled the entire state of Texas
and woke on the verge of orgasm.

To name some, primary emotions could be

hurt, regret, rejection, fear.

but tears mix for
impotent hemlocks.

I drink it and drink of it
and a black bird flies flop
into my pink face.

Die and come back to life,
come back to–
Come, die.

The days came
and went, came and went.

My eyeballs were malignant purple
clouded the color of slugs.

And I was the strongest
succubus of them all.