Tuesday, July 15, 2014

rough and tough

My husband died and
I began eating meat again.
The world is kill
or be killed.

Like a 15 year old boy,
my best words are 'fuck it'.
Howl at the moon,
Sleep with the deer.

Stemming from a line of
pickled livers
spanish flu immigrants,
a nail studded 2 by 4
in the concrete lot.

Like dressing beef jerky
in long blonde hair
and pretty pink blush.
Master's degrees in
the art of calming down.

Give me a hickory stick to bite.
Hang the placenta from the ceiling.
Display the raining blood.

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