The Song of a Swallow

by kholinar

eight tines waiting
shrinking limbs, a healthy waste
stove stares, burners gaze
a door at the side gapes
weak hands grope and release
Abandon slides like a school bus
into their gullets,
fat tastes, taste fat
enameled meat glitters
like shards of rubies
on pink felt
ribboned about by
yellowed pearls
open and close to death

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