A Feast

by Daniel J Flosi

 

I would taste it. Without inhibition I would taste the taste of sorrow;

hold it like lamplight in my mouth and sit next to your bed.

We would stay up late reading stories. Stories that would make you scared,

but not afraid. Because you know we don’t run. I would tell you how I caught

and ate the last of the cicada, to save their memory.

And you could tell me about the spiders spilling out your ears.

Child, we live under a bridge now. There are bats and spiders and we meditate

under the boom of insanity. And you’d get that feeling like when you know.

Waste water trickles along the graffitied wall, and we think it must be a stream

from heaven. Sweetheart, we’re alive now. We shower in the freezing rain.

We’re in each other’s arms now. The tree frog purrs and moans

under the starry sky, and we are in its throat. We feast on vibrations.

And we feast almost every night. Now we tell the story of how to sing in silence.

 

 

 

 

Daniel J Flosi is pretty sure they are an apparition living in a half-acre coffin within the V of the Mississippi and Rock Rivers. Drop a line @muckermaffic