The cannibal’s head up your ass
and the angel’s noggin gnawing
its way down your esophagus
may meet someday in the midmost
of your hunger: and as their mouths
kiss there at that primal core where
a black hole’s born or an atom
splits cold each time earth’s rats and worms
devour our dust’s ravenous quest
to taste the apple Eden lost,
will this lust find consummation
in the appetite to which it’s grown
when the sun peels apart the one,
the only world you’ve nova known.
Gastronebula (Octosyllabics)
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