A Murder

They call it a murder

But no crow will harm me as much as an omitted breakfast of a snowy morning

When the warm oat milk is leaking from the cup along my frozen thumb, too numb

to press the doorbell.

But oh ah, imagine your face – and mine – if ever I had intruded your house

The stairs, the carpet soon covered by the white pain

To scrub at midnight when the foxes are foraging the garbage and drinking from the teacup

Look – there is a penny in the cup,

The fairies must have brought it from the land of apples

The same apples that fall from their trees, rotten

Consumed by the frenetic ants and the wasps

Filled with the venom that –

I got distracted

I was saying, the house, imagine

The roller-skates to climb over and the multiple doors to push until

Until I see the white body, meaty, of a lady

Is it a lady or should we serve her with the roast on next Thanksgiving?

You tell me, I’m not hungry anymore

I don’t have any merci left

The pastries are stale and the milk turned sour

My stomach is rising in my throat, asking for a place to rest

Outside my body outside the house

Would fly to another star with Elon Musk if he wasn’t that grim

Instead I keep it tight, need each of my organs together before I explode

All over the place

Will save the time by filling the holes the insects left in the walls

My legs are spinning like a mad carousel, are the kids on my back gonna drop like dead flies?

At least they would certainly stop waving at the wind


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