oh dear oh dear

upon opening the meat, venison, i smelt the blood,

a thick, violet paste, rancid like glue

as i dropped the cubes into the searing copper pan

I saw the maggots pop and crisp like discarded fingernails

some exploding entirely in the heat

still more maggots came then

searching for the moments between my bones

under the leather of my skin, sucking the marrow from my cartilage

visibly fattening as they feasted, their juices congealing

like the core of a pigs trotter, used to thicken a fine stock

◄ the man stood in the corner of the room

dont know when but a day is gonna come ►


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Harry O'Neill

Sat 10th Sep 2016 11:02



(not the poetry...the meat.)


Fri 9th Sep 2016 23:40

I am reading a book of which speaks of a people making themselves "indigestible" to their occupiers--though maggots could make a feast of any rot 'til their death's expense. I tell you, if my thoughts could speak aloud (it's all brewin' inside here, Stu, I promise), I could tell you of at least a few more aphorisms that would fit quite well here.


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Fri 9th Sep 2016 19:34

Strong meat this Stu ! As a man who won't eat red meat I find this conception is not that far fetched. Your mind at the moment is on full stretch. Your imagination is so full blooded, more so than mine. Keep that all nicely stirred and serve well..


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