the pleasure is all mine

the horny labrador has been making plans.

jesus.

a few dirty messages and now he wants to know where he's going to sleep.

i was having a fine time seeing what a sentence could do to him.

now he wants an appointment for the rest of me.

he can wait.

i'm at dinner with the brass, working on a steak,

while somewhere else he gets hungrier.

there'll be more of them before the week is out,

leaning across tablecloths, licking their lips,

proud of how well it's all going.

i know what to say to make them even more rabid.

it costs me nothing. cheaper than the wine.

at home i throw quail carcasses on the lawn.

two baby crows and their mother go at the same little body,

feet planted, dragging it back and forth like drunks over a check,

one beak opening the breast while another yanks the leg.

all that noise over something that can't feel a goddamn thing.

i stand at the window with a gleam in my eye and enjoy myself.

only now i'm the one in the carcass, watching.

i feed one mouth. make it jealous of another.

they swallow whatever i toss into the conversation

and lean in closer, sure they're getting something.

go ahead. bite.

chew the soft parts of my life and swallow them whole,

the dog, the well-dressed bastard with the roving eyes,

every panting tongue that wants a chair at the table.

they think they're the predators because they own the teeth.

so hungry for the marrow they never ask

why the meat doesn't bleed.

swallow me wrong and you choke.

swallow me right and i'm next door to your liver.

let them finish.

let them wipe their mouths and lean back,

fat and happy, sure they got the best of me.

then later, the cramps.

the dog whining on some floor,

the men in suits gripping their guts in a cold sweat,

and they'll finally get the joke.

there's no nourishment here.

i'm not meat.

i'm crushed glass,

and i'll sit back and smile

while they bleed from the inside out

trying to digest something that was never alive to begin with.