another old poem

"A Good Meal"

Seas of diners gorge on gory
gouged phyla and a lone
wader drips soft words
from his thin lips,
into our bowl.
Wisdom serum, sloshing round,
glints in his eyes say he's found the sought.
and he tips the vessel,
our tiny white ship braving pirates,
vessel of hope, and the flat words
gurgle lapping clinging.
Swiftly i snatch them up
and slit my chest open with
a blade of icy steel
burying the solution deep inside my heart,
even as i bleed,
and dying intense,
the red stained diners bolt,
ripping and clawing at my chest,
spasming lust
and i smile with a
blink eternal.

-rts