midnight, a poem

midnight burning
in the grip
of a muse so
yet alluring
binding by
entranced they
till i’m seeing
voices and hearing
it is the
witching hour
and i’m

*a remixed borrowing from Mmatshilo Motsei’s title Hearing Visions Seeing Voices

a poem | they eat their own kind

They eat their own kind
Feast on the flesh of their kind
Drink up the blood quenching their thirst
With their teeth tear limbs apart
Ravage the brains; pick the eyes
Suck the marrow from the bones of
Their own kind.

These fingers once tenderly held a loved one
Those legs took a soul on a journey
That heart loved and loved
This blood that pulsed through the veins

They feast on their youngin’, their women
Plunder temples between infantile legs
Rip the cradle of mankind
Raid and pillage the sacred womb of humanity
They smack their lips with deranged joy
As the lifeblood oozes down their chins
Drips on the banquet table where
They feast on their own kind

Those eyes looked back at yesterdays and forward to tomorrows
These breasts from which life suckled futures
This tongue sent odes and laments and chants and ululations to hungry souls

They feed on their own kind
Walk the street the stench of blood up their nostrils
They stalk chicks as a fox near the farmhouse
Prey on the young and old and seemingly weak
Seeking only to fill their bloody hunger

Out in the street they took her soul
Under the kitchen table he turned baby into woman
Fighting for survival they consumed the dead
In a drunken delusion they sucked her dry
Ravage femininity pillaged womanhood
Licked their fingers
As they devoured their own kind

What abomination
A survival of the fittest?
A meal when times are toughest?
Or just pure cannibalistic, carnivorous, intentions?

Why do they eat their own?

this poem is linked to OpenLinkNight on dverse.com