let me brand myself
he-who-is-different
let me howl around
in lieu of feedback
then unwind
in a hot bath of outrage
feed the twist in my gut
that feels like hunger
we discriminating consumers
who like what we like
we must be sure to bark up
all the right trees
Scratch your head
Bite your tongue
Grin
Bow low
Keep your hands tied
Your feet pressed firmly together.
'What's all this?'
You'd better
Ask the belly.
It'll tell you.
I'm not hungry
Overeating is bad and I know it.
So I don't eat more than I need.
I know that it's unecessary.
I don't need it, I'm fine.
I can live without it.
This Food is torturing.
I'm hungry. I can't stop it.
I want it, I need it, I must have it.
I want all of it.
Can't stop those overwhelming flavors.
I need more to live.
I eat until I become mad.
Again and again,
even if it's bad, even if it's poisoned.
I eat again and again and again and again
i found a plate of leftover fideo in the fridge
and my stomach grumbled hungrily.
when i asked though and learned that you made it,
i put it back.
just the thought of touching what's yours made me want to
bathe in a pool of bleach.
Like the destitute child, hungry
Gazing at the goodies in the glass shelves
Hoping, that if he looks at it long enough
The glasses would melt
And those inside would come marching out
Straight at him –
Or, the shopkeeper, taking pity on him
Or to get rid of the pest –
Or a kind heart would buy one –
And
Throw it at him, ridding himself of the guilt –
The possibilities are many
For the beggar who cannot choose…
Dark Room.
The bathroom is my dark room.
The blade at my waist.
I slice the skin until I bleed.
And Bleed.
And Bleed.
And Bleed.
My hands shake,
the tears come.
I tell myself how horrible I am.
Horrible daughter.
Horrible lover.
Horrible friend.
Horrible person.
I take the pain and hold onto the thought.
Maybe this punishment,
Through the thickest parts
of night's veins
we crawled
clinging to each other,
but you still cannot see
my animals have died at your door.
You will not let me impale my hunger
on your razor stare.
You cannot hear my bones
crying to you.
Nothing can connect me to you.
We drop into craters of time,
rock jaws sleeping in serpent skin.
In the tangled music of
broken shadows we
strangle our lives
If not fire then
flood
if not flood then
fire
a bitter aftertaste
in the water
Unemployed men
in winter skin & hunger
hiring out
to the state
1.25 an hr
the rest of the countryside
careless
with matches & overloaded
dams
the ragged bird panics dead flies from the window nets
it claws the glass
it is tearing at petrified flies for its meat
it is caught in their weaving.
i throw food out to the
black raw cold
anything is taken
tough rinds hard outer leaves
out there is such vast
wordless hunger
animals hidden
in the dark soundless
waiting staring
the bush breathes sniffs restless
everyone hungry even
in houses fed
I do not know his grace the Duke,
Outside whose gilded gate there died
Of want a feeble, poor old man,
With but his shadow at his side.
I do not know his Lady fair,
Who in a bath of milk doth lie;
More milk than could feed fifty babes,
That for the want of it must die.
But well I know the mother poor,
Three pounds of flesh wrapped in her shawl:
A puny babe that, stripped at home,
Looks like a rabbit skinned, so small.
And well I know the homeless waif,
Fed by the poorest of the poor;
Since I have seen that child alone,
Crying against a bolted door.
Poor little traveller, lost in night!
God made a miracle, I know,
To give you life — tears and delight,
And ecstasy and ancient woe.
Yet barefoot in the snow you stand,
Beseeching bread with shaking hand.
Poor baby, with your wistful face!
When you are grown a man, and tall,
You'll have the kingly, simple grace,
The smile that makes a festival.
Yet from the dark your hungry eyes
Behold the cook-shop’s paradise.