inter-feast

[Lumiere]

after a funeral we
eat to concentrate life, to be

the opposite of fading,
our texture grating harder against time's curtain, and
stepping into the rip.

a coffin declares what we deny with swollen tongues:
the rip is a window and a mouth.
the hand that feeds has teeth.

life clenches her jaw
soft as if through water,
and nibbles,

dissolves entire limbs until
mind dismisses body
to the wet offering plate
on which is carved:

there is no life or
death;
only appetite

[Bar22do]

Lumière, this is powerfully disturbing while so fine at the same time... "stepping into the rip" is highly evocative, though not only this; life feeding upon death, death claiming life... the small invisible path, hardly no man land...
Beautifully written, this poem will stay with me for a long long while. Thanks Lumière, best regards, Bar.

[hillwalker]

I also enjoyed this one, lumiere..... some wonderful images, 'time's curtain' and the 'rip' (or should that be R I P?). Great stuff.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Surely in l 2 you meant "consecrate"? Apart from which this is a rugged, brave poem with haunting final lines!

[Lumiere]

Thanks kindly Hill; and glad you are "disturbed", Bar.
Prince: I meant concentrate, although consecrate is an illumining suggestion . . .

[PrinceMyshkin]

Prince: I meant concentrate, although consecrate is an illumining suggestion . . .

Thanks. I should have paid more careful attention to


"to be
the opposite of fading"

which counterpoints "concentrating."

[lallison]

Shouldn't have read this right before dinner. Not really hungry anymore. I've read this three or four times now, there is something both intriguing and grotesque occurring within these lines. It's a bit like the problem with all the coyotes running around the lake here. They keep eating all the other animals. I keep seeing their sleek figures darting across the road during my morning jogs and wondering who will end up at the top of the food chain. Can't just let them run wild like that, you know. Just a bit of food for thought, I guess.

[Lumiere]

Shouldn't have read this right before dinner. Not really hungry anymore. I've read this three or four times now, there is something both intriguing and grotesque occurring within these lines. It's a bit like the problem with all the coyotes running around the lake here. They keep eating all the other animals. I keep seeing their sleek figures darting across the road during my morning jogs and wondering who will end up at the top of the food chain. Can't just let them run wild like that, you know. Just a bit of food for thought, I guess.

Agh! You must write a poem about the coyotes! And/or other instances of bloodthirsting beautiful things with paws.
This situation interests me.

Thanks for reading and giving me something to . . . "chew" on, lallison.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Agh! You must write a poem about the coyotes!

Before Lallison or anyone writes anything, especially negative, about coyotes, they ought to read Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer, for that and many other reasons... not to mention one of the steamiest openings you've likely encountered.