I rendered a recipe
Of leftovers in my mind
That happen to be
Complete garbage
Of dysfunction.
Where do I begin

It began in my heart
Where I pulled out,
Longing for safety,
Dripping clotless
Rags that made up my frame
My apron stained red.

In the middle was observed
A town of hate
Lacerating the bowels
Of everything and anything
Leaving a mighty stink, mistaking it for butter.

Towards the end a drifting
Spice of malcontent
Sprinkled from the pores
Of harmless thinkers
To crisp the tenderloins
of affection.

The oven is preheated
Everyone a dark hot mess
Needed no thawing
As the goop of alienation
Makes everyone a witness
and a vulture
     for a meal.

No matter how
un-schooled you are
Your neighbor shouting, the stranger drooling,
The cop beating, all have the same home-spun recipe and one main ingredient,
         Human, baked at 325.

Resulting in
a deus ex machina.