"Rich in shrimp, and fed fat by feeding, my nouveau cuisine and halapino peppers stuff the moneyed throats of stockbrokers like a tickertape, quoting every appetite to the last eighth of desire. 5 On my empire the sun sets flaming like a peach's pit; inverted pigs stare naked and wrinkled from their hooks, flayed Bartholomews, while I boil the mother sow to a tasty vinegrette my salt palm spices. Others boil, teeming with a prosperous guilt 10 my low_cal meals can baptize and cure; slimmed by the communion wafer_sized servings at the steel counter, they smile. I smile from my orange hell of steam. My father was a butcher like the bard's, often said: 'Let each man's conscience, sick, and thin with pining 15 like a scythe, razor his wet brains apart, in bloody pieces like spaghetti.'"
From the collection "Contemporaries"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.