recipe

my brain is fried

my heart, on the other hand,
has been sliced into chunks
and marinated in
rejection
I imagine it will be delicious
baked slowly
in a hot, lonely oven

my backbone seems ready
for stewing
break it in half
and dump it in a pot
“soup is ready when the flesh
falls easily from the bones”

my legs are strong
and should make a nice sandwich
on a Kaiser roll
with some lettuce and thin slices
of fear

my healing hand
is better off without the knuckles
(had ‘em on a salad)
whereas my destroying hand
was way too tough to eat anyway

the liver, soaked in alcohol,
made a pleasant flambé at first
but burned to a crisp

and left me only kidneys for pie

and a bunch of yellow gutsthat ran away on their own