You aided me.
In miracle manufacturing
Like a feeling machine
I authored your verse and voiced your songs.
I reaped gold and green
From your arid fields
Sterile fury of your fading affections; and
The torment of fake love were poetry.
You unintentionally gave
Uncooked foed for thought
Just pure wonder;
I usually cook over my own slow fires
But your hungers were ferocious,
My Master, dine with me
When your magic spoon touches my food
It becomes stone hard, marble cold
Let’s feast on this bitter miracle
Then fall asleep
With an empty mind and stomach.
This impotent wrath
Condensed and frozen
Is the delicious dessert
And the perfect fruit after the feast
Ready and ripe to be devoured; Poetry!
I washed my face,
Till the skull showed itself,
You didn’t wait for the brain.
I washed my body,
Till the bone cage showed itself,
You didn’t wait for the heart.
Someone had once stolen your rib
To create me by a strange distortion of it.
You were eager to claim the lost asset,
So didn’t wait for the heart to sing
It’s song of parting,
From a cage suddenly devoid of bars.
Now after the vengeance,
Wild freedom of two hands and legs
A womb now reduced to an empty begging bowl.