waiting, it lies

licking it's pale, dry lips

and folding it's clawed hands

like thin, empty oragami paper

bursting from a jelly carapace

drooling greedily, it takes hand

of all anywhere, anything.

crinkling packages, making fingers coated

with flakes and cream and calories

drenched in self-pity.

then, alas, it is done.

tongues of fury flame to bobbing

so much roundness,


and hatred

boil and bubble, scald and thicken.

sweet and thick and shiny and dripping.

the next day, it gurgles

mutters in high, apologetic voice

but it cannot shrink

the ugliness that swells.

nor can I fix it

through strained tears from concentrate

so they stay in,

red-faced and shaking.