2024-01-04

poetry/c/chow_locales.txt

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+Chow Locales
+2023-03-02
+
+***
+
+Last night to myself I thought
+in midst of writing drought
+while laying myself down in bed,
+"When will I ever feel better again?"
+
+Swinging on the crests of zig-zag Sowelo,
+landing on all fours as low
+as they'll go,
+close to the ground.
+I wake up at midnight in a sweat.
+"Just a dream; no need to fret."
+Crawled out of bed
+on dog hair-frosted floor
+with thrashing hunger too loud to ignore.
+My brain'd make me eat an entire damn pizza
+if I weren't too much of a coward
+to operate the oven at this ungodly hour,
+and even then, when all's said'n'done
+and I've been abandoned by feral fervor,
+my stomach would probably either vomit all out or rupture.
+
+Lover takes in her hands my jaw,
+peels back my lips to see my fangs long.
+My fingers around her wrists, trembles.
+Pinpricks of pupils. Fear of going feral.
+"Desperate devouring is a fashion you wear well."
+
+Jormungandr and Ouroboros,
+masters of yoga, flexible enough to hold the pose
+of curling around to bite their own tails.
+I'd maybe get halfway there and fail,
+collapse in a crumpled heap on the ground.
+There are easier ways to have my foot in my mouth.
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander