Fresh Meat

I yearn for the touch of fresh meat on my fleshy black lips

                                                               Raw and Bloodied.

I love how the juices drip from my snout 

       and stimulate my large bland tongue.

I love to run.

I love to run across large open fields

 feeling the cool morning dew-drops scatter between my toes.

I love a windy Southern breeze, and how we pass

                                      like Strangers in the Night.

I smell meat simmering in an all-night eatery.

I smell apes

 sweaty in their tailored overcoats.

        Lonely. Arrogant. Confused.

I smell the changes of autumn leaves

 waiting to pass judgment before their Wake.

I smell happiness.

I smell

 Sadness.

Down my running path

 a countryman hears what I hear, and shits where I shit.

How I envy his boister and grace.

His cool demeanor and ruthless tact.

Where the meat is free for the taking

                   dancing on a saltless sea.

You will find me.     

Lounging on the cool tile.

   Passing gas with excess.

Content.

Content with this

      Familiar Place.

Content with the way I sneeze in a dusty cave.

I have no Deadlines, Documents, or Preoccupations.

I have no will to see things through.

All I have

 is me.

  and gods willing:

A belly full of fresh, succulent meat.

                        

                          Raw and Bloodied.

Fresh Meat

Daniel James (via the Red Pig) 2004