by Gideon Burton
A certain burning, sluggish cooling lead
descending black into the thinning blood.
A trembling of the organs, salty red,
which dissipate into a common mud.
A pleading stretched in pulses in the nerves,
or else a slowing echo in the mind
as breathing hastens, stomach inward curves.
An absence seeking what it cannot find,
it fills the body, empties spirit clean.
And soon the numbing turns the daylight numb
So present, though unbodied and unseen--
how deeply will its twisting knife blades plunge?
As hunger sharpens I will grow more dull,
not human quite, until once more I'm full.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - nosha