I am rabid and I won’t eat his ribs refusal itches because it is a pest turned inside out
I practice the boss’ monologue while dragging his softening body across the earth with me
I like his shadow company that’s a lie I like pretending a repentant evil angel follows
each of us around on his knees and I think of Thebe I don’t like shit either I don’t
go outside on easter but I’m never late to the resurrection I don’t believe we’ve made it this
far to scar the grass with vinegar one April afternoon too many drug immunities we eat
the bird’s babies guzzle the yellow pulp and then wonder when our own sound will
hatch of all that patient cannibalism I tuck boss in a mudpack beneath a drooping
thicket and practice his monologue back at him limpness that he is I return in three days
to pick the gnats and worms from his muddy flesh and later add them to the cake and
potatoes on his widow’s menu they skip no days of food for the dead a miracle of evil
you want to taste impunity so badly you want to feel the consequence of fake power
in your belly I am very generous about teaching you how you want to feel until
you don’t want it anymore beg away your desire I’m not even angry I’m just very generous
I practice the boss’ monologue feast on your own dead feast on your own dead eat
your own dead and one bright necked morning you’ll see a rooster and I’ll be
running no more game on you escape is blue escape is spring lazy eggs
decorating the new likeness the new parallel in hunt in relentless distance
