here at the dinner table, the fish
comes pre-stuffed, its belly full
of beads, its muscles laced
with your old clothes. its flesh breaks
as confetti pieces, glitter between
eat, as the turtle who desires the jellyfish swallows
the plastic bag. empty and unaware
of its emptiness, it gluts once and the bag
remains forever, leaking poison in place
sit. shovel in another spoonful. each bite
coats your tongue with that which cannot
be tasted, but seeps into you all the same.
oil and other drugs
arteries crisscross the land, branching
their metallic bodies pumping blood black
as night, imagine: the veins of your skin
swollen around a snakebite, coursing venom
to your heart.
i think about this cancerous desire, how entranced
we are with the glistening of the oil slick, its power
over us. we dig into the brambles in search
for more, despite warnings, and are baffled
by the snake that makes its home there.
the bursting of blood vessels spills
a swell of inky tentacles, the inevitable
expansion of a black hole. the snake’s venom
spreading out, uncontrollable, and
you were warned, that your greedy digging,
your clawing fingers sinking into the earth, was just
like shooting up: the high of it masking the bloom
of poison beneath your flesh.