After the car crash, this hole on my face listens to me
recite the evening’s menu. A fridge, a television set,
laundry detergent, patio furniture, a zucchini, a lobster,
a jar of olives, my wardrobe, magenta, & turquoise. At the
table, I flambé this hole on my face atomized books. Wonder
bread helps build strong bodies twenty-three ways. This hole drinks less
than its usual gas fare. I want to go through it again with a quail
egg on top. Balloon into an unhealthy weight class as to savour the
taste of herds. A single wafer-thin mint sheets this hole with viscera.
After the car crash, this hole on my face is amazingly still alive.
This hole on my face blasted open, reveals spread ribs & this intact,
nagging heart. Do not renounce the glamour of evil, do not refuse the
mastery of holes. EAT PREY FUCK THE CHEQUE, MADAME.