niches of life

teec           pka-pka-pka       krch krch 

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..                                ..          .           .      qh qh qh qh qh                    .        . . . .....                       .         

..       . . .               .           . . . . 

    . .      . .....      .      .       ...     .

another scab falls of. his fingers no longer scratch his sand-mined body. mind wears away with each tiny leg that scurries across his waist and up his back through his right blade and up his shoulder. purple dots cover his naked torso. his mind gnawed, his body shaking, no place to rest this sack of meat, dried up with phlegm and pus and blood from bed bugs. two weeks ago they moved in to his body, who knows from which unlighted street corner of his urban bed. 

i saw a man step over the backbone of a goat and press it between his thighs before a sacred shrine, the goat effusively wagging its black and white tail before its head was severed from its body. like the goat, i did not know what was going to happen when the tail was wagging wagging wagging, but then again, i couldn't see the knife either and it must have felt it before i did. where will the bundle of leaves go to now that they won't be digested? crack! crack! the joints are snapped away from one another, the knife so easily breaking furry skin appart, exposing muscles, bones, even the respiratory track, clear and transparent in what little neck that i could see. "we are made of 462 parts" said a wise man, reminding me of my own constitution, "not one".   big animals eat little ones, and little ones get together to eat the big ones alive.  

scratch scratch scratch