last tuesday i couldn’t sleep
i went down to the fridge and i
i poured myself a glass of milk
remembering mother
and how i used to feed on her
hot flesh turning liquid
cold flesh turning hot
dog eat dog
i switched on the TV
i had minimum expectations
any faces, any voices
to lull me to sleep
programmes repeat
since the afternoon
and yes, times are tough
and yes, it’s hard
and you weren’t prepared
we had such high hopes
spiritual crisis
financial crisis
and yes, it’s hard
and times are tough
what else is new?
(ha ha ha ha!)
i turned the TV off
and my eyes wandered slowly
across the room
until they hit
the record player
i walked over
and moved the needle
to the first song of whatever
is on the player
white noise
then a voice
and i can’t help feeling the things i feel
remembering your flesh when it was real
and i can’t help feeling the things i feel
the rushes, the heat of the weapon’s appeal
the rifle
the cleaver
the bereaved and the reaver
i sink in your flesh
and the flesh turns to meat
darling, eat
plundering bodies
and plundering souls
the bourgeois eats the prole
and i cook them whole
and the millionaire eats them all
i sample bits and pieces
fillets, pâtés
minced or fried
cooked for stock
broken bones
discarded faces
the taste of farewell
to the human race
is -
puzzling
and every bite
is part of my revenge
a tribal punishment
you were messing things up
you were fooling around
and you played with my heart
you endangered the group
you were soiling our name
you were noticed again
were the weak link in the chain
and you looked into my eyes
not with horror
but with knowledge
of just what was going on
all the tribal punishment
you were messing things up
you were fooling around
and you played with my heart
you endangered the group
you were soiling our name
you were noticed again
and maybe it was
maybe
and maybe it was
maybe
and maybe it was
just simple
hunger
