|
The Eater |
if there has ever been a place
in my heart for the eater
the heart is a brain
misshapen, lost.
at the supermarket
in my brain I am the greeter
and you wear a nametag, a red vest,
and you are the boss.
Together, we watch
the cottony tentacles of the storm
reach down to scrape the parking lot.
Swallowed in a drab gray ocean.
Soaking in one unbroken
January afternoon.
(this is simply the heart speaking, dressed as a brain)
eater of souls. of dice. of bones. we're side by side
when the eater washes over, dissolving
trains, the fish market, you
who never believe anything I say.
copyright 2016
Adam
Phillips |
