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07
Jun

POEM: The Taste of Human Flesh

THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH

YO! The world is coming to an END!
Due to a caustic, causal, environmental
TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.
Vagrant “L” rider stands, grips pole and defoliates.
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.

Prepare yourself and tape your skin so the glass won’t break,
flesh will overrun your homes, your brain and your television
in hurricane annihilation of red pink drip drip syrup
TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.

I thought I was going to some poetry readings this week
but no, I was overcome for the love of
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.
My eyes dry, irritated red cracks infected with the dust of
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.
My ex-lunch is engaged to a would be attempt at thug wielding
red hot baldness of
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH
The reason for obsession, reproduction, propagation and fornication,
probable cause in all beneficial and benign human activity.
The spicy fresh
TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.

I’m tired now,
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH
on my face, extreme pressures, pleasures and horizons, moves of doom,
copulated breakfast special,
Stick your tongue as deep as you can into
the unequaled tunnel of the
TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.

Fountains of bodily catastrophe
Toilets languishing economically
reduced to contain less and less capacity for
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH

You will be destroyed by the sandpaper scruff of
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH
You wrote this on a train in New England while passing out
from the texture of
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.
Drifting out of consciousness:
A true example. Bill Cole’s Birthday.
I am sitting a Boxer’s Bar with some friends, including his wife Laura.
Across from us at a small table is
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH,
a straight sandy haired blonde, clad in a maroon kinda suede jacket,
black shirt (relatively low cut), a black skirt (relatively high cut), and mild platform shoes.
At this moment, fixated on the bend of her arm, I know exactly what my
future wife was going to look like (for those of you not in the midst of this
poem and the uninitiated, I’m not married as of this writing.)

I point this out to Laura and she says, I’m not surprised. You look (I look,
and I have to fart) just like her.

WHAT?

Yes, look at her eyes, identical to yours,
her nose identical to yours,
her forehead identical to yours, thus
THE TASTE OF HUMAN FLESH.

Prepare for the end of the world, of this world as
I am instantly annihilated and all human life triggered by the site
of this unidentified reverse-gender doppelganger is annihilated.

The conductor takes my ticket.

THE TASTE
Is this woman to my left on the train looking at this poem?

She must think I’m a cannibal.
She is eating an oval white tablet/vitamin,
drinking a juice box, reading a book called,
“Fuck You, Ya Fucken Bitch”
Every human in this car automatically looks like
my wife who doesn’t exist, step away from the closing door.
YO, spend all your money on this image,
YO, get all your love from this image,
It’s over.
The evisceration of all imagination vaporized.

THE TASTE !
THE TASTE !!
THE TASTE !!

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