Vulture
I have vilified myself in my own mind.
I try to think back, to retrace my circling steps,
to pinpoint precisely the exact moment these
cranial lithospheres began to diverge and collide.
I scratch my head dazed
and, my scalp has begun to peel so
come, peer into the depths
that are too far to reach unless flesh is torn.
I tear through these thoughts with the tips of my nails
til the flesh under my flesh began to show raw,
down through the pericranium
into the expanse of this pink mass
I gorge myself on the thoughts that escape
torrentially through these tear ducts but
the rate at which it flows is nearly negligible
next to the rate at which they form.
I tire of this itinerant heart,
it comes and goes-- when I don’t want to,
it makes me feel-- when I do,
it keeps me numb.
It constipates my thoughts and puts my mental through
an intermittent and seemingly ceaseless series of
explosions and implosions.
My mnd is mutilated and
I took no notice
until it was an unrecognizable mess.
Memories marred and tissue left scarred,
I gather what’s left with skinless fingertips that
sting in this salty sea air.
I want to give my all to you
but I’m stuck conflicted over
which pieces of me are good enough.
I just pray the leftovers of me leave a good taste on your palate.
A full plate is a delight and feast to the eyes, but sometimes
the scraped up scraps are the sweetest.