Three weeks ago, I left a 12 lb hunk of corned beef on my kitchen counter overnight.
It was intended to feed my coworkers for a work luncheon the following afternoon.
In a moment of panic stricken madness, at 4 am I searched if this neglected hunk was safe to ingest.
Due to uncanny parallels with recent life events, an hour later I felt compelled to write it out,
right after running out pajama clad with my hot crock pot
and dumping a steaming 12lb beef into the blue garbage bin at the curb.
It was a poetic moment.
Walk with me through the morning of wake up and do. And catch that maybe just maybe you didn’t. Wake from complacent dreams devoid of the muted screams of waking rousing shots, emotional heart strung disrupt, sling shot straight to the weak spot ouch.
Wake to sweet relief expanses and ceiling trance glances.
the space between
The fog induced haze, the aftermath of ceasefire peace dreams.
The cold counter vulnerably unaware of the infestation, quietly in the dark.
In the midst of veil and smog, I arose. You arise.
Beef’s on the counter. Hunk of the hip. You did. I did. rest and rot. We did. Sat, smug infected decaying corpse of cow.
and all the while snap shots. dreaming crystalline ballerinas, sapphire shaded silhouettes. the sunny rise of cherub’s smile. blindly beaming. rerunning reels, ongoing abstractions, fabricated slideshow embraces. small traces
all the while
rotting every minute. flesh and bone decline. You are his and he is mine.
Toss it. Thrown in the blue bin of would have could have. The infected puss ridden spoil will almost certainly induce convulsive, violently explosive episodes to all who consume.
Left on the counter to spoil. aerated. decomposed
a shit inducing skeleton of what was.
carry off now in big blue, the squirrel ravaged bin.
Walk with me as I wake
Mother effete Carcass