
Photo by ahmed adly on Pexels.com
Watching skin on skeletons row arms like oars to cameras
I am sharing a boy or a girl it is hard to tell my friends
I have fifteen hundred friends and need one now
this sharing of the feast are human cuts
reduced to meat remember the bird,
the patient vulture by the babe
waiting for him to die so it
could pick at its remains.
I am a vulture of rank
the cleaner of dead
come to my feast
hands are cutlery
a cannibalism,
autopsies
of self,
you.
me.
I
am
hungry
to consume.
I am watching Yemen
it unfolds like Vulture wings –
the concaved ribcage is interrupted
by Jamie Oliver cooking a Christmas Turkey.
These are strange algorithms in stranger times.
I am forced to watch this advert before I can continue,
my hit is registered and Yemen is fed by Jamie Oliver I think
he would like that very much because everyone deserves to eat.
Everyone deserves to be consumed yet who wants to stomach Yemen?
Who wants to dine on eyes too big for sunk in sockets that stare too deep,
into you, and I of the Brexit underprivileged who fear austerity, a Yemenly state.
I am thinner today than ever before.
My eyes are fat with the starved.