Evening feast

I lack the appetite.

The lemon rind spits on my plate
drops of acrid curses
tease a hole
I have not the desire, I say
break me, plate, glass...

I dodge the hyena mock with a ladle
saying "I cannot want!"
Never.

My anger mirrored on the silver curve
bloodshot eyes, bulge
veins pulsate
like the pendulum tick
(It is following)
on the narra wood twelve times
the conservative house calls me.

Chocolate bog melts on the streets
(coming, calling)
dreary stems of unhappy roses
wilt in the thick smog
the sleepy night ever so sleepy.

That languorous wind song (again)
teasing me again,
Waltzing with repressed desires
(I am hungry, maybe).
My weak limbs, aching
empty with the sweetness of sugar
if only I can suck the nectar.

My tongue, burns.
My lip, burns.
(I am hungry! I am hungry! I am hungry!)

The narra wood, dials.
Hello to the black slate
streets with dimmed sodium lamps
no one is watching
look above, the moon cowers.

My canine teeth bite like dagger stabs!
I attack most desperately
(A woman who never held swords)
lick pink ginger foot flesh,
gangrened thumbnails
and thumb bones
kiss broken ankles.
Smell the aroma of mud.
(It must have rained lately).

I tear the wound apart
untangle hair
rip veins
claw hips and ribs.
(Look above, the moon cowers).
With empty mouth, salivate
tip of tongue touching soil
A rabid dog!
(my ears pressed)
intently listening to love songs.

They are not laughing.
Why I want so much.
desire too much
so soon
( to prey on the next)
(I am hungry! I am hungry!)
Spit on the lemon rind
acrid tears, oozing
a gravy of pain
(I want to spit on the lemon rind again.)
forget about house calls
and sleep beyond twelve.