Be advised: I know
you’re there. Though hidden
well, your taste for meat bleeds
through. The eyes.
Pigeons plucked and prepared
to your liking. Naked and young:
the deer: a mirror-eyed child wanting
only to please (you) scraped her body
to skin scrap and blood. Your
eyes delighted as hers
whitened. In the orchard apples are
shrinking. Aphids double, double,
then drop. In the orchard
the sun won’t turn. You
are spoiling. The meat
inside you: already spoiled.
You still have the knife,
though you promised it gone.
You have the knives,
be advised: I know.
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Tags: corinna, corinna ricard-farzan, hidden, knives, meat, poem, poetry, runaway, taste
