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Still Life with Mannequin and Leg of Lamb

            I am hunger, the breadth and depth of me,

you said, & it was years before I’d learn that you were always

            full of shit. The girls never seemed

like real girls. When you met the sweet young typist

            at a cocktail party & took her home

 it didn’t seem like a real death

            because she was sprawled out on the chaise lounge

in a matching bra & panty set like a lingerie model

            or a bargirl after an especially good fuck. Never mind

the puncture marks at neck & thigh, the purpling

            at the wound sites. We’re all still animals,

you said, I’m just a more sharp & honest one.




Posted 07/10/14
previously published in Barn Owl Review 4
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