on Friday, a tour of the abattoir,
one with meat hooks so shiny that people's pupils were captured,
and the brownness of the blood river
made the orphans weep.

such a miserable place
your shoes got taken
and your socks soaked up the meat juices,
I got sent home with my eyeballs in a plastic bag.

we all got a complimentary abattoir coffee,
and you were the only one
who didn't drink it.

"there are dust particles in here," you said
"I think there are pieces of gristle, or rib cages"
but no one was listening
their ears were just diamonds
sparkling in meat hooks
the abattoir tour.

all of these bees
stung my eye lashes
that must be it
my mouth drips honey
and the bees die
at my patent feet
the bee grave yard
littered at 495 longitude
my rib cage broken
into white candy chunks
food for dead bees
my eye lashes stung
heaven honey droplets make
the bees sticky cremation

milk skin taut on bones, the colour of calcium,
                         today the milk is dotted with sun blots, but it hasn't gone off yet.
further down the milk is purple and bruised. but
                       you never want to go further.

drowning in milk skin isn't different from drowning in milk,
the blood of the cows staining your eyes.
                                                                        red in your eyes,
                                    eat out my eyes.

picket fence eye lashes;
one day we will make them stand so tall,
one day i will stand tall, so tall that you won't see me,

i will be a cloud,
                           and a bird,
                                             and a whole aeroplane.

                                                           there is a war. and it is happening underground.

if you are an overground soldier, your milk skin will drown you.
if you are deep underground, you are purple and bruised.
but for the LAST TIME, you NEVER
                                  want to go further.

dogs yelp. and it sounds like accordions.
                            but secretly it is accordions. and they are made from lions.
                                             according to the yelping dogs,
                                            of the purple underground.

i like the idea of skeletons walking around,
but not skeletons covered in muscle.
the underground well they are coated in muscle,
strapped firm to their skin,

                                                                           like suicide bombers.
              and you are a cause worth dying for;

according to the world leaders with their picket fence eye lashes,

according to the yelping dogs of the yelping darkness.

                                                                            you never want to go further.

i fell into shadows
on the sheets
of your bed
blonde honey spilling
all over
sticky fingered boy
oh that brother of mine

your sand hair
cried out for my auburn
i had hidden under black
you wanted to pull the stitches
Out
of my body
you wanted me
to never forget

brother how could you
how could i
with your hands on my throat
honey spilling from my mouth
all over
sticky toothed sister
painted bruises
big big brother bruises
bending beneath broken bones
how could you