Thursday, August 18, 2011

Appetites

I.
Starved, this fattened world,
like a calf moaning for love,
its mother milked
and father out in stud.
A trough, full of silage
starting to rot.
My tired throat.

II.
Who knew it was a vegetable,
this mystery? a root vegetable! right
in front of us! under our feet
and shimmering leaves. I suppose,
looking back, it’s all so clear, but that's
because we pulled it up
to put on a pedestal
in suffocating glass. The truth
in flesh, and that flesh full of seeds—
I think you’re right,
it is too wild too thorny to be kept
outside.

III.
Every word of yours is full, like perfect
close-to-rotten bulging fruit,
unflagging, heavy-sweet and brazen.
Like a child I’ll eat without thinking.
But when I stop too long to look
at melting glowing colors of rich peels
my stomach pains so strangely dim my eyes
and make me faint-
hearted and weak-willed.