Guts (ii)

there was something about hunger, at least, for me./ Something about consumption in continuum for me, /something that bored itself into my /stomach lining and grew into a knot of wanting,/ knot of gordian strength and feasting–/that was where it started–/despite the abundance and clashing desire to stay thin, always eating, always selfish, always more./ Always three bread rolls deep on grandmother’s couch at thanksgiving, /stupor passed out from gravy and full size family style mac-n-cheese & all you can eat diners that’s the part of the midwest that never left even when the accent deserted me & there was something there like fire, / but like ever-consuming, like unfed mouths–the food, / not enough, success, / never enough, /never enough to be whole again, /never enough so that there’s still pit-in-stomach reaching out through the insides, visible outside,/ visible everyone but-you-can see it, kid, behind everything you can do so well, there’s always something missing–and that’s just the problem, the question, / the one we’re all waiting for– / the sense of being & screaming about being & bleeding out / a body on a page &/or in the confines / of our jaws


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