Styles of provocation,
mourn the projection of hair and bone.
Throated disgust with dirty shadows,
perky and deathly upheavals
poke your insinuating grains,
farm your insides–
to manage the dogs,
sickly at your lap.
Buttocks of the opinionated,
burn the gravy–
an upset for the cannibals,
tongues lining chocolate rims.
Coital skeletons curtsy,
something of up skirted mercy–
as swampy eyes pasteurize breasted curdles,
lumps much more luscious for sleeping beasts.
Limp bodies point salted fingers,
hatred a snack for tribal circles
of abandoned flesh,
peeling and torn.
Of heaving bone,
moist, astral beings sleep alone–
of apnea chests,
opinions finally thrown.
By Brittany Warren
The Carnage Conservatory 