The Sin of Ingestion, #36

As the last morsel winds down,
glides down the gullet to meet
its compatriots, newly
chewed, freshly lost parts
of itself, it thinks,
it dreams of returning home
after war, after being
torn to shreds and gnawed, it thinks
that finally, at the bottom
of this long gooey tongue slide,
there will be rest. But listen,
as it heads to a too full
belly, as the final piece
is always one piece too much.
Hear it plop down, here it rests
and breathes great breaths of relief.
And then, slowly the burning,
the gnaw of acid, moment
of realization, now
to look about for family,
only to see them all lost,
drowned and eaten. Imagine
Shark, Pirana, the Loch Ness
of the belly. Sense that poor
morsel search for an island,
something to prop itself on,
only to be washed over
by a tea or soda, sunk
and soon to join the goulash.
Splashing about, hands and glands
kneading what once had structure,
had form, what once lived and sang
and swayed in the breeze, kneading
it down to its molecules,
reprogramming DNA,
telling it to become me.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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