an h(/fr)omage to how i used to sound

sounds like a
crises plural/ lice
surround me/ hounds like
dinner time gather round
the waterin hole on the dole
on the day and
on the day that morning she
did her business blending as she do

shallow fryin she misses the way
she used to see all kinds of food get
wrought and grated
moulded and broiled and
covered in sweaty pastries n
wrapped in thinly cut meats
nondescript slabs of meats
peppered and slapped and ground grimacing

the way she used to see him ooze it/the way
he embodied soft cheese conceptually
trudged around proudly he felt
adequate thanks to her
knowing gaze


thinkin bout that tag-penne blend
those textures green with lemon-why not
chopped hot pork sos’
n crumbled feta stirred in/n i’m
flirt-in with the idea o dinner made/
a mound/a bowl
a marrying carb

the appropriate nutrients/the ‘eat good’

and the garnish showcases artistic flare
the dish turns heads and raises eyebrows and
i smile down upon my dinner made/my mound
my bowl for a battle-ready belly
a hearty beginning to an action-packed evening
i did good


frogspawn/cream or
vegan cheese, it’s mostly about the texture
or when i slap it on your lap and rub it into your trousers
furiously. i wanna stain your shoes
i wanna blame it on you but when we point the finger
3 fingers point back at us while a thumb lies idle
but it’s a price i’m willing to pay because them fingers is wi’ me

i wanna squirt ketchup on your new fucking shoes n
laugh and smell ’em later, and watch as gathered dust has stuck
and settled on your wretched stains
i hate those shoes, i’m gona burn your arms

i’m gonna do my business at the hob. i’m gonna
pierce the packaging with a fork a few too many times bcause
it feels and sounds rewarding/empowering
it’s controlled cruelty

i wanna get fed on by carrion birds, wanna
circle my prey, feed my young, wanna spring forth
n out towards/claws poised, gonna puncture,
rip, gut prey

i’m slashing tents/i’m raining, flailing/thinking;
i see nun-chucks get spun n shown off way more than
actual nun-chuck bludgeonings
multiple hits into a nun-chuck submission
a throttle lock-down, get span round/slammed down
maybe slapped about
manhandled‘ quiet now

table for 1

charred steamed fish for that omega 3
with overdone mushy broccoli in instant-cream
eggs and beans and fish wi’ broc-broc n’ cream
listen to me choking and gargling while i eat it
audibly mouth breathing eating my brain food
wiping cream from my mouth/smelling my fingers
thinkin’ bout that sweet bean-cream
breathing through my nose/masticating
smiling, thinking about other stuff.
n clearing my throat n u can hear my thick beans
thinkin i wanna watch things get eaten in mid air
right there, by the fabric of reality
n i get to hear it grunt and swallow too