These rose-colored glasses-effacement
or dissolution, for example, of hunger:
the aerated bellies I would fill.
But the worm flowers in the very earth
which grew inside us to be taken back
to the green sheath we lie down in.
The plural of silver is always silver-
ware, static tine after tine poverty
feeds upon, failure of alchemy to fix.
Like cone inside cone, the mouths
widen as they draw nearer, exchange
circles and point their opposite ways.
We only wanted to fill up with pain
on the crumbs of love, not these dumb
animals which enter our blood daily.
Hunger surmounts hunger; the spirit
spits on the body; the heart chews
on the heart, for the sake of the other.
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