Figs and Magpies

Dangling by loose,

green, ripening


outside my bedroom


Gaping punctures of

open, succulent wounds

Their minute mandibles


Culpable of what pleasure and hunger

instinctively must do

Their delicate bodies

resemble my delicate


Their favoring

of sweet, plump fruit

contrasts my belabored groping

for it

And then reminds me

of how profane

this fruit still


Yet in their uncalculated sequence

of returns,

so brief and so ecstatic,

they teach

my haunches,



and insides

to return

And return

And return

to the pear-shaped yields

that reveal dark, wet meat

Awaiting the mouth

to form sounds of yelp,

of trill,

of full

as the birds and I,

in chorus,

swallow up first,

the skin,

then the flesh

while we siren to another world


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Filed under poetry, sexuality, Uncategorized

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