Pecan Eyes

Pecan eyes. Raisoned eyebrows. Cracker backside.
Glazed on side scowl. Rind on teeth. And strawberry cheeks.
With cookie crumble feet. Breathe. Intake and exhale footsteps on foot trails.
Leave crumbs of yourself.
Ever so often along the way.
Clean your plate.
Pray for the coming of the second helping.
A savior carrying a cheese plate with a butter knife
and thin shaved pork rolled up like eyes.
Granola. You solidify the stool. Give a step up.
A reason to sit. Full with insoluble fiber.

Give body to my shit.

And late night water. How you wake me up in the early hours of by god,
do you still call this morning, it’s far too early, tea kettle cat calls
from the kitchen hall, my oatmeal wants to make a meal of me.

Sat in the dark tying shoelaces like licorice whips
because you know no one wants to eat those.
Are you a ricist? Is it all white?
Or can a little long grain and wild brown
make it into you every once in a while?

How many ways can one go hungry exactly.
Also. Are pop tarts just pie crust and dry jelly filling?
Maybe I’ve been misled.
Maybe I’ve got all this stuff I’ve eaten.
Filling up my head.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s