Writing

Autumn Cannibalism

Poem • October 1, 1998


spoon-feed the faces in the clouds
stick a fork in her
 I think she’s done,
butterknife fingers
a bowl of blood lingers
in front of the blushing sun,

crumbs of skin swirl
in the scratching
 of the dry valley leaves,
I thee wed
for your jello head
you fill all of my needs,

place set doilies melt
under the heat
 of our passion,
I ate
my last date
just to taste her reaction


Notes

Originally published in Intentions: The Underground Literary Magazine #2.

In 2008, ten years after its first publication, I made a video reading of this poem for an online poetry contest. The video did not place in the contest.


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