meat garden

i prune sirloin
& shave petals of bologna 
from a great corpse flower.
watering can of my own blood.
i am learning what it means
to worship flesh.
where a cut begins 
if you want to be precise.
muscle & beef & bone.
the pigs that speak in latin
& tell stories about their oldest.
hooves in a pot of water.
the broth that rains in minnows.
we used to speak with greens
in between our teeth. 
but now but now but now.
wilting orchids. those are eyelids. 
to become carnivorous
is a process of nesting dolls.
call me a chicken coop
or a crowded coat room.
elbows planted in the ivy.
the garden gathers thresholds. 
hangs roots from the ceiling. i trade
an ankle for a bulb.
salami roses & pursed lips.
not knowing what to eat & how
to eat it. this is the story of my body.
a mouth in a room of hearts.
cast iron pots collecting grease
& a hand beckoning, "sleep right here."
my stove has a necktie. calls my name.
tells me, "i know you are hungry."
grass grows thick as the hair
on my knuckles. the garden
asks me to eat. 

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