When Things Eaten Eats Us
They told us to dream,
but there is this brand of dream
that is hard to imagine ... So, I'm picturing ...
and in this will-o'-the-wisp, I become
Desmodus Rotundus,
Vampiro en el grottos;
a travel pig for the mattock
pruning the roots of the people.
First off, I did not open up like eateries
... but I've watched senseless thoughts
eating what they should never eat,
rubbing their bellies to go home and discontinue,
but this was just the first wave.
At nightfalls, I scour the darkness
in the forbidden of Wuhan, sucking everything disagreeable.
I am saturated with wicked warranties,
nothing outrageously seducing, but brutally illogical.
I was horrified when society looked me dead in the eyes
before bringing down the meat cleavers.
They display me as Paniki to plan their murders,
they open up and invite me in, flesh into flesh ...
and flesh to flesh I swear to share
what I've buried in me as disasters.
There are souls more neighborly,
I hid what I portioned quiescent in their organs.
Only a mucous analysis notices it ... waiting ...
to strangulate the defenseless.
Life is brittle; it often falls and smashes the big noise.
Copyright © Francis Brown | Year Posted 2020
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