Parts of me

My stomach churns
Butter
Fingers
Fingers Of Lamington.


My heart beats
Heart of a cow.
A mooing bleeding steak.
Red droplets of blood
Along his plate.

Droplets,
Droplets of milk
From udders that hang.

My teeth may be left
Like hard shards
Of memory.
In the dust of me
Memory
Of the dust of me.

Good Timing

The perfect time came
And went
While I had my hands full
with seven kilos of flesh.
While I was elbow deep
In a sink
With dirty dishes by my side.

I bought a special notebook
And a silver pen.
I carried them inside
A pocket,
Hemmed with promise.
I carried them
While waiting for
The perfect time,
To come again.
I carried them
Between my teeth
Like a retrieving dog.
Nibbling small crescents
Along the pages.

The perfect time came.
It blew across my brow.
Tickling into pockets
sewn with promises.
licking cool breath
along the silver pen.
My stories caught and ripped
themselves along
the sharp edge of

perfect Timing.

I reached for my notebook
and found a pocket of confetti
small pieces
of shredded paper.
while tight
between my loyal teeth
I found a silver bullet
A hard
and deadly
bullet
Of a pen.