If I were a beast
I want to gnaw your arms
into clean bones,
licking off the fresh meat
until I am satisfied
with the curious bloodletting;
the marrow is most
succulent
in hot, tropical places.
I’ll growl & warn the
inhabitants of the
rain forest of my prowess,
my undying hunger.
In this reality, I wait for Winter,
quiet, warmed-up rooms
& moments when the geniuses
come out of their hiding places,
& I savor their ideas, flooding
my brain, lighting up the filament
as I smell fresh & new juicy sentences.