A reflective poem of wish, cook, and bacon, exploring change, memory and inner weather.
April 7, 2004Early Notebooks
Do you wish to cook my bacon,
skin and hide, tissue and bone?
Tear apart this temple of life,
strip me down to the marrow alone.
Grind my body on slabs of hate,
turn flesh to fodder, seal my fate.
A sacrifice to the hunger you crave,
leave me scattered, unfit to save.
Rip apart, unravel the seams—
a butchered dream, a twisted theme.
Picture perfect from these crushed grapes,
blood-red wine as my spirit escapes.
The war between men is fought in vain,
a feast of flesh, a harvest of pain.
What do we gain from tearing apart
the living temples of each other's hearts?
The battlefield is a butcher’s delight,
where hatred cooks in the dead of night.
We devour each other, bite by bite,
until nothing is left but shadows in flight.
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