easy to swallow her and mash out the
fish frame. crack the spindles with your metal
fork. incineration bone grain.
to cover her like the glove swallows the hand.
a deadpan adrenaline
drain, dripping into his coffee can.
living a few feet below everyone,
she forgets, it isn’t real what you feel.
when she wakes up to the untempered
air, flapping her on the line
and the wrath of the seasoned pan,
the human burn.
the plates will shift. eager to swallow and
reseed. it’s the legacy of the meat
fattening on the bone.