Starting to wonder if I could make like a giant
And take up bone crunching as a habit.
‘Cause when I’m doubled over like a question mark,
My spine clicks like something already rotten.
Listen. So moved am I by spite and unspeakable darkness,
I’ll wheel out the entire circus –
All those beasts and brutes and daylight robberies.
For learning to mould a fist from a palm, finger to hand that does not shake
But forces – as you know – takes no specialist training.
Tell me then.
Is that how you have seen me since you stopped taking the time to call?
Did you press a desperate face to a window, and sit back
To watch me guzzling down old bones?
With bated breath clogging up that dirty stained glass,
Could you see my tongue’s insidious intent,
Or spy a recipe book of nefarious trickery
That was sitting just inside my front porch?
Remind me, friend, love, foe (?), I am not so smart –
I have thrown myself with all the force of a great baboon,
I have watched the bottom fall out –
Was this one on me?
Now wait, I understand.
These delicate carpals too are frail.
Take this coffee hardware with you; all the cups, the strange dry spoons,
The biscuits are crumbling, the oven is warmed just right –
What do you mean?
Are you done with me yet, or
Would you like a cup of tea?
H. R. Gibs
Illustration Nick Victor