Monday, October 29, 2001


this is the knife that cuts the meat
skeleton of the rock it used to be,
but sharp.

blade ready for hackin' up stuff,
the mice that dare
to crawl
get cut up real bad

twist down aching throats that
wheeze on tungsten razorblades
spill out of compartments
in the ceiling above you and
everything rushes to your head
and you can't see anything
through the spots of blood
cloud your vision
the sweat soaked sweater
wrapped around your eyes
only see the drenched yarn
that burns into restricted cornea
shatters veins and smears
iodine across your vision
drips down into your mouth
and you wretch

but nothing comes until
the dry heaves
can't even bear to hack up the
shredded piece of lung trapped
in your throat
fingers down mouth in the bulemia
dance, head plunges into the toilet
grasp piece of rare steak gristle and pull
it up along with the rest of your lunch

"someone, please help"

cpr trained dining companion
who you hadn't even noticed
smashes your ribs with
a carpenter's hammer and you feel
them break into more shards
that twist into and wring out organs
like the kid who rubbed fiberglass fireglass
foam on his chin and
screamed, the rash burned and broke
blood vessels into his face
ended his chances of ever meeting
a soul mate
screwed up his social relations with family
and friends
only stutters with turrets
and drains pus out of pores
while they all stare back in disgust

she turns around, unaware
and hits you in the face again with iron gavel
drops blade into the face that pleaded
for help

the knife can' t extact the trapped lozenge
that festers in your throat
traps it and presses it against aching

guest leaves the terrible food
unfinished to rot on her plate
and departs
by one with a somewhat clearer throat
and leaves a shred of paper on the carpet
beside you

you however
still twitch on the floor
realize you were never really a dinner guest
just a sideshow to watch
strangle beside the dining room table
tremble toward the note but
body too wrenched to read it
you croak through
the jacuzzi bath of black fluid that bubbles
out of your lips:

"I'm finally dead...
We did it together."

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