t-rex meat

we started to devour like tourists.
eating the not-ours of the not-ours. 
marshmallows stuffed in our cheeks 
so we didn't forget we were
supposed to be silent. the world
left all her foot prints on the porch.
when i am hungry
i am destroying something.
a billowing dress that can
only be worn once. i am wondering
if it is dangerous to see myself
prehistoric in an off-white gown.
i tell myself i am a presnt-tense man
with all my toolbox ready 
to be put to work. sitting 
at the dig site with a pick axe
in my hand. the dinosaur knew nothing
of how sweet it tasted. savoring fossil
& searching for bird. we are all
descendants of one disaster 
or another. passing a piece of meat.
starting the fire in the middle
of a the past & waiting for it
to climb into day light. nothing else.
that's what you don't understand.
there was nothing else. just bones
& what feathers we could find to chew on.
carrying my talking knife 
down to the excavation. he says,
"you are thinner than you've ever been."
i plung him into t-rex muscle.
tell him "it is time to work."
everything is salt. the trees even.
bitter & urgent. lightning arrives
like sinew. none of us go to bed full.
i ask the knife, "did anyone ever
eat enough?" the knife cuts a knotch
in my finger & says,
"an eye for an eye."