Autumnal Cannibalism

1 March 2017

The trouble, the issue in the system

like clockwork,
every orange October.

Comfort is a pillow in his back, unlike
a dentist

pulling. A tooth—

foggy, purple in his gaze.
Nothing.
Can I do nothing?

Blood.
Black bile, the yellow …

And I believe they’re
all
there.

It’s a fork, a knife.
I won’t let it reach for him—

Reversed, a crooked turntable,
and I am his
protector now.


Notes:
Based upon the painting Autumnal Cannibalism by Salvador Dalí

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