Ive eaten up my own
liver with onions,
starving for its rancid taste
of bitterness and hatred
from a gilt edged plate
with a one point fork--reused
and sharpened on a matchbook
with a side of hard whiskey
...or cheap wine
in a dark room
full of strangers
taking turns clothed
in a cold shower
of saving grace.
So I write it all down
after I am through purging
and go back through the soup line.
