RARER THINGS from TULPA by Stranger Killings

Rarer Things


The meat is fresh
but sours on my tongue
it dies again in my mouth
it toughens in my guts
In my mind a noose of gristle hangs
I need to eat of rarer things

Throw ash on the plates
throw the plates on the floor
pull the cloth from the table
search the place behind the door
and scent the air for terror
search the attic search the cellar
till you find that something rarer

A slice of cake
a slice of calf
no one tells me what I can have
I’ve swallowed women down with whiskey
the blue bonnet
the blue sash wearer
I’m in need of something rarer

I’ve stuck my fingers into honey
I’ve slapped and twisted
but always resisted

but the noose of gristle in my head
closes on a rose of red
I pulled her from beneath the bed
the angels sang inside my heart
when I ate the rarest part

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