You cannot force somebody to love you
but by God haven't we tried to...
at least a half dozen times in our lives.
Likewise, nobody can force you to love them
but by God haven't they all tried
at least once in their lonely eyed lives.
We've all been on both sides of
the uneven love equation.
Forcing somebody to love you
is like nicely asking a plutonium tyrant
to sign a peace treaty...
or convincing a shark to become vegetarian
while tassels of meat are swinging from its teeth.
Rest assured, you don't have to chase love...
just follow that light that's always been in sight
Love will shine through the blackness
like the warm rays of a sun shower
piercing the heart of a long-cold drought.
You crave my honey-glazed legs,
relish my breasts with practiced flair.
You chip my wings mid-conversation,
While dissecting my dressing,
Too raunchy, too clingy
never quite suited to your taste.
You want me plated just right:
thighs weighed in grams,
skin stretched to your appetite,
injected for volume, deboned for ease.
my fear tenderized for flavor.
Still, palate demands more
side dishes to seasoned
to disguise the ravine taste buds.
I am your blistered indulgence,
charred silhouette served hot,
just a piece of meat.
But my journey to the plate
lasted sixty days crammed,
in a A4 sized cage
under heat lamps.
I cried once. But here,
crying is considered inefficient.
They said my flesh would serve a heavenly purpose-
add protein to your ambition.
But even my bones bore devotion
chewed, splintered and sucked clean.
I was delivering triple meat pizzas to the fat lady, during intermission.
The death happened before I arrived; you can check the cameras.
I wish I had seen something, so I could help you in your investigation.
Some of the singers are whispering about people they suspect.
Line sneaked in here, and was acting odd, I have heard this twice.
Her cousin Lin was seen hiding in a closet in the food court by Hank.
No, of course, I have no direct knowledge. I was not here.
Here is a list of the places I delivered pizza to in the last hour.
With the recipient’s phone numbers. These should clear me.
I saw Steven and Carol tiptoeing away from the orange Julius stand.
He was holding a broken bat; unsure if that will help but it might.
I have two more pizzas t deliver, and they are still hot.
Can I please go?
the meat cave
...be...
the tribal den
...of...
their unspoken
...oars...
len
Frozen by their artificial sun, all our training taught not to run.
Monstrous figures pour from the trees, deafened by screaming tread and allies pleas,
Would this not be done if you held the gun?
Surrounded by the fallen dead, just waiting for your dose of lead.
Our Earth a canvas, stained in red.
We march, we fight, we die for lies,
A war machine fueled by cries.
The hands that squeeze, do they ever freeze?
Do they feel the weight of the blood they shed?
Am I no longer your brother just because I'm dead?
Or are they like me, and this will never leave their head?
Tourtière, Canadian—
beef and pork browned well.
Mom always added breadcrumbs,
onions, celery,
and mashed potatoes,
spice blend too—
yum.
Jenny leaned against the counter, counting the stitches where Ariana’s arm had been severed, each segment arranged in clinical precision beneath the glass. The overhead lights hummed, sterile and white, reflecting off the muscle striations, the fine marbling of fat. The attendant, masked and impassive, weighed the cost. A rib’s soft curve. A shoulder blade, gleaming. “Is this enough?” she asked, voice catching in the cold air.
Ariana’s skin, rolled tight like butcher’s parchment, was pressed beneath the scalpel, measured by the inch. Each cut—exact, economical. Josh preferred the delicate portions, the leanest tissue, the parts that held the least resistance. He inspected the yield, thumbs tracing the tendon’s taut line, fingers pressing where nerve met bone, the quicksilver exchange of possession.
Outside, his boots clapped against wet pavement, the rhythm steady, expectant. Jenny imagined his hands pawing through the parcel, the slow unfurling, the practiced hunger. The body, greater than the sum of its parts, was dissolving into the transaction.
The register chimed. A cat licked the wrapping paper. Steam rose from an open vent, curling into the streetlamp glow.
Thoughts of a Border Collie While
Pondering a Bone
Mine, mine, mine, I think
as I drip drool on the floor.
Bloody meat clings
tenaciously to the hard bone.
White fat, like veins of gold,
marbles the red treat.
My owner is thawing this delicious
delicacy on the counter.
I watch and wait with longing
as I think of the animal odor.
Sharp canines will soon tear
and rend all from the cow’s femur.
My probing tongue will pull the tangy,
succulent marrow from its hiding place.
When all has been eaten, it will
become my favorite chew toy as
I will gnaw, gnaw, gnaw until not
one atom remains.
Then I will lay back in the cool shade
and realize I am a lucky dog.
We meat eaters
In the café on the first floor of our building
The food served is cooked on the day
Sometimes they serve fish which I'm not a fan of but when I have picked out the ing bones
the fish tastes fine
They serve wonderful chicken that only a few days ago ran around not knowing they would
Be lunch, but that’s life, we humans eat human flesh too when given a chance, living deep in the jungle and fried female **** are seen as
A delicatessen only served to the chieftains who are the upper class in their world and no, if you
Ask, there is no beans on the toast
• Fresh meat
• Who can resist?
• I never figured a love for this can exist
• It's tangy flavor
• It's smooth exterior
• I personally find human meat superior
In Nigeria's land, where yuletide cheer does fade
A yearly refrain echoes, "Last year was better made"
A curse, it seems, that haunts the present's door
As if the past's sweet memories, forever leave us poor
The cost of food, a constant woe, does rise
A negative trend, that brings tears to sorrowful eyes
Past leaders, revered, as if their wisdom, we can't replace
Does this mean Nigeria's well, of good people, has run dry, and lost its pace?
Should we forever pine, for bygone days of old?
Prefer the past's faded glory, to the present's tale, yet untold?
Fuel and transport costs, a burden, we can't define
Monopoly's grip, so tight, it chokes the poor, and makes them decline
The price of meat, a luxury, few can afford to buy
Yet salaries stagnate, as if frozen, in a bygone sky
Oh, Nigeria, land of promise, when will thy people thrive?
When will the yuletide season, bring joy, and not just a survival to stay alive?
Meat is tender
Grilled done, add salt
Pepper and lime.
Granny decided this week
To no longer wear false teeth
So she eats soft food
Like beans and stew
Much less meat in her cheeks
He just dip a
String of meat
Up, throng lil fish
Caught in less might.
Panda Pete was an avid carnivore
Devoured small birds, snakes, and wanted more
Followed the Amazon River to Ecuador
where he lived with a meat-eating matador
these two had a great time shopping at a grocery store
purchasing steaks, roasts, chicken, fish, meats galore.
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