After the car crash, this hole on  my face  listens to me

recite the  evening’s  menu. A fridge,  a television set,

laundry  detergent,  patio  furniture,  a zucchini,  a lobster,

a jar of  olives,  my wardrobe,  magenta,  & turquoise.  At the

table, I  flambé this hole on my face atomized  books. Wonder

bread helps build  strong bodies  twenty-three ways. This hole drinks less

than its usual gas fare. I want  to go through  it again  with a quail  

egg on top. Balloon  into an  unhealthy  weight class as  to savour the

taste of herds.  A single  wafer-thin  mint sheets  this hole with viscera.

After the car crash, this hole on  my face  is amazingly still alive.

This hole on my face blasted open, reveals spread ribs & this intact,

nagging heart. Do not renounce the glamour of evil, do not refuse the

mastery of holes.  EAT PREY FUCK THE CHEQUE, MADAME.