Thursday, May 21, 2015
The Face in the Lard
Broke every bone in my body
Every muscle has been sprained,
pulled, twisted, every gland
is shutting down, every organ
closing shop. My skin
attempts to creep away
from the torso's sinking ship
but until I chop it loose it will remain
firmly attached. I am not yet ready
to scuttle this anatomy.
Every one of my hairs stands
on end -feeling merciful, I shave
them off, let them fly away with the breeze.
My eyes bug out but I am not quite
ready to let them roll free.
What will be left when all my neurons
have been fried, when all my nerves
have sizzled away to nothing?
Then I will let the bones clatter off,
cradling their marrow, let
the weary muscles drag themselves away.
There will be nothing left of me
but lumps of rancid fat, not even
worth rendering, giving everything
I am cooked in a bitter aftertaste.