After The Orgy Of His Ending

he was laid out
like a meal
on a picnic table.
How swiftly he was
torn and butchered!

If you lay a feast
before some folks
they settle right in
and devour it.
I’m certain
he was spoiled,
spoiled early,
spoiled rotten;
I never could have thought
to drag a tooth over him. 
Seeing him
picked clean like this,
I worry most about those 
who consumed him, that they
are what they ate, that they
will turn rotten deep inside
if they were not already. 
It’s not their cannibalism
that shocked me as much
as, knowing how dark
his meat was, how readily
they took him in and made him
a part of their very bones.

They live
right next door
with their bloody jaws

and their endless,
deathless hunger.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

2 responses to “After The Orgy Of His Ending

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