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By Cieślik
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Teeth sunken, collarbone spent
Thighs a cold appetiser, arms chopped ham
Butchers hang underwear on ceilings of courtrooms
Throw down the benches, tear down the walls, oink, pant and groan
Drizzling and gleaming -- saliva hits the stone cold floors, a cotton breast feast
Maybe they'll choke but the angels are watching
And they'll surely save them
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Rob the poor for food
Sell the kids
Strip who you can
Feast on the stolen and steal all the feasts
Drink the bloody wine and eat the meaty bread
Throw it all out and waste it away
Who’s gonna stop you if they all starved to death?
☆
Up the ladder is the only one to see
Up there in heaven there’s just more to find
Insatiable hunger, the sky finds a way
And it rains a golden shower to bask the winning faces
Saint Peter didn’t ask about the factory machines or emergency exits
When he stood by the gates, thanks to them, he got to swim in golden clouds
So were the conditions really that bad?
☆
What’s the difference between the warmth of
A blazing city and the warmth of a blanket?
Why bother
My hair won’t tremble if it never moves and
My fingers won’t get callouses if they touch nothing
I’d rather keep dreaming in my bed
What makes it different from fire anyway?
☆
In love with all the jasmines -- tries to kiss them whole
Sleeping in soft, sweaty petals, sends longing gazes
To the watery surface of another stigma
Salivating at the scent -- deodorant mixed with Victoria's Secret body mists
Sunflower seeds to the pit of their stem and they can feel the sudden drop
Over the meadow, golden petals crack their necks and knuckles
He's tasting jasmine, tramped down lemon grass -- essence down his chin
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She can’t see it, but she knows it
His collar’s white, dirty with a gun rather than a bullet
He likes her in heavy makeup and turtlenecks
His touch is kind and holy
He's the son himself
She can sense it -- soon
He’ll pull the wings from beneath her spine
☆
Broken skin, torn out flesh,
Like a pig on a cross, a chicken with no head
Hung in the cellar, hook ripped into the nostrils
Touch-tone telephone in one hand, sleeping pills in the other
To live repulsive, or to die stunning — that is the question
And take the pills is the answer
Maybe the mortician will find you beautiful
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