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.