chicken nugget

get all the bird in your mouth.
feathers & weekends & fathers. 
i am a blender disciple. put the house
in the blade place. it is better
to not know the way the feet looked.
i am getting to the age now
where i don't remember 
who did what to me. i have a blender
i just use for hands & another
for fruit. sometimes instagram 
tells me i want to watch juice cleanse videos.
i watch them even though
this is not something i could ever complete.
i had a boyfriend once
who liked to play with his food.
sometimes he chased me around the house
with a gun. the gun was a water gun
or it was not. we went on a date to
mcdonalds & he was wearing a tuxedo. 
he put a ham sandwich 
in the blender & told me,
"if you're really hungry, you will
drink it." i did. sometimes in my memory
he is not my boyfriend he is my priest
or my father. at a certain point,
what does it matter? throw the whole
skeleton in. throw in the eyes
& the nerves & the veins. it is all going
to the same place, a mash of 
unmappable body. sometimes i look
in the mirror & i see a chicken nugget.
jurassic & dormant. foot prints
left on the ceiling, a face in the dark
peering above the fence. i turn on
all the blenders at once. hope that one
catches enough sweetness
to make a meal. a grape or a gourd.
almond milk. a flock of beakless chickens
roaming a body room. their hearts,
little white meat nuggets.