The Dead Eat Everything

Forage

1 F o r a g e a way of life without wattage or Formica. have you ever been lost? i crossed myself daily like a basement mystic, oiled fingers, old fears. i hated. i hunted for that new car smell in every can of sPaM, every sloppy pear i swallowed, all the nights spent fending crackheads away from my porch. My, my, my porch & block & last light bulb outlasting even the fruit flies & their sex. They gathered like every surface in the ghetto was a church. christ was a pest. every crucifix i saw lost its hands. i chanted fist-first until i measured my blood in buckets. Forage. i have skinned a house of its front door in search of the meat inside. Forage. i have skinned the animal i found in me & watched him wrench himself 13 back into the flesh. i have made gods of my skinned hands. i, all thirty-two teeth of me, yes. ...