Bodies in my fridge
Butchering a whole back into easily prosecutable rib racks.
Cubed, minced, acid-rinsed, half hacked up in my kitchen, by the sink
Bags starched and stiff as moon flags with old blood.
Huge drags, no old blunts. Owl eyes all blood. Moon oldbloods sing.
A sink I sometimes clog. Remaking earlier plates, with their stink.
Cut up into slim jerky bits, better to sink. Lefts left all over the place.
Flies nesting in clefts
Heads of eggs emerging from rent, foetid flesh
Like lime Tic Tacs resting in a bowl of rotten dog food.
Alchemisland 
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