Thursday, 12 November 2015

No Foreigner For

An analysis of the burden
Provoking the squeeze  
Of the right hand with enough pressure to demand 
The increasing of anaesthesia
Before the doctor digs any deeper
Delicately into the flesh
Proceed to burn away at the wound with a tool almost resembling
A hot glue gun
The burning of the beast until
A trail of black smoke
Rises from the tender skin
Dab at the blood trickling

With a cotton cloth
And marinate one slice of the skin
A disturbing yellow colour from the paint-like substance
The surgeon applies from the container
Like painting pastry sheets
With egg yolk
The burning ritual with stiches
And carefully sew up the wound by pinching the skin together
And bury the void
Baffling brains with
Black humour watch as the surgeon
Lays the square
Upon a silver platter

Amuse a chief
With the aching resemblance
Between an animal’s
And a human’s flesh
Command the pen
And sign the oath of the vegetarian
A taste bud flees its tongue
Into a pot of horrendous swelling
Seasoned with a pinch of salt and suffer to taste