She would have been
101 today.

She
must have
thought about it —
like we all do

picturing herself
in a future body —
in a future year like 2025.

In 2025, I’ll be 101 —
she must have figured,
somewhere along the way,
wondering
where should would be-
what it would be like

what it would feel like
to be gone.

The Big Bang
happened the day
God fell in love
and His chest split open
insides shooting out —

Tumbling viscera
bone, blood
fast-spinning debris
adrift in the dark beginning to
orbit.

And it was next in self immolation
that the universe ignited
when God,
collapsed in on Himself
and became a star.

Oh taco,
you tight-lipped temptress,
soft or hard-
either way, I'm intrigued.
You're the only thing I stare down fully dressed,
I still expect to blow my mind.
You sit there, I spread you open,
hot meat glistening - 
slick, and greedy for attention.
And your smell - 
oh, it hits before I'm even close:
savory, smoky, with a hint of spice
that tickles at the bottom of my spine.
Fat melting into flavor,
lettuce like lace
sour cream dripping where it pleases.
You saucy little thing - 
you don't ask permission,
you demand to be eaten.
Is that cheese or are you just
melting under pressure?
You know exactly
what you do to me taco
as your juice runs down my wrist.
You're my greatest temptation,
tight in all the right places - 
barely holding it together
and proud to spill over
when things get too messy
so I need to use my hands.
I go in - mouth first, eyes closed
you don't judge,
you encourage.
If you could talk you'd say "baby, eat me like you mean it."
Napkins? Please.
If it ain't on my face,
I didn't eat it right.
So here's to you, you delicious, little slit.
part snack, part sin,
you're the three-minute affair
I never feel guilty about.

It started with
a dimming of the light
to slow my breathing.

to stop my thoughts
to barricade
to blame.

To never look myself in the eye
but in the mirror see
an empty body
surrounding me.

To fail in every role of mine
fulfilling my own prophecy.

Then rip out my heart
for the empty heavens
the cruel blue sky,
the mocking clouds.

Finally to poison
shake and starve
Regurgitate shame
from volcanic guts
to porcelain.

Last to fall on
laminate floor
till the little dog wakes
from  the award of dreamless sleep
because one of us is
hungry.

Pull down the shades so that no one can see.
I'm locked in with you now - what's on TV?
I'll rip off my nails and tear out my hair 
by morning you'll wonder how I bruised there. 
Just you and me lying down on the couch
you can bite off my tongue, I'll still play house. 
I'll pour you a drink, do every dish,
shove a spoon in my eye - I'll be your *****.

To fry a heart—

Hold it
with one hand.
Tap it gently,
create a crack.
Use both thumbs.
Insert your thumbs
into the crack
and gently pull
it apart,
drop the contents
into a hot pan.

2. To whip a mind—

Chill the
watery liquid,
start pouring slowly.
Begin whipping.
Be mindful
to prevent
splattering.

Increase speed:
soft peaks
will start to form.
Watch closely:
when it
gently folds over,
stop.

For stiff peaks, whip'
to straighten out
without collapsing.
Sweeten
if desired.

Don’t over-whip—
it will
turn to
butter.

3. To bake a body—

Combine
the dry parts,
add water and mix
until a sticky
dough forms.

Knead
hard.

Leave her
in a warm place,
until she doubles
in size.

Let her rise.
Then turn her out
on a flat surface
and shape her.

Let her rest,
then bake her
'til she’s golden
and sounds hollow
when tapped.

Let her
cool down.
She is
ready
to serve.

Bring a goat or sheep
or the accused or the mad
or a hostile woman-
so near the knife’s edge of the sea
that their blood will spill into the brine.

The sea is bountiful,
but it must be fed.
Dark clouds gather.
You will smell it before you see it-
a black column of rain
blowing over the horizon

And the twisted bodies,
will roll in the surf
like empty shells
until the tide pulls them out.