cannibal

squelch, lard
rubber rolls –
the butcher’s best!
heaving slabs of
gorged, bulbous,
putrid projections.
a collar of spit
a beggar’s garb,
mucous fingers and
pancake batter for arms
i wish i could swallow.
there’s room in the pit,
a boulder in my chest-
i am worried for her spirit
so thin you could not hold it.

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