Like so many forged blackbirds
from a tempered steel pie,
sweat slick arms,
gnashing in hot oil,
ripping, crow-croaking
from their carriage of
ropey ozone throats.
Last-of-the-line
screaming eagles tear
the flesh from cheeks and thighs,
breasts and necks,
red with the last lava sun.
Rasping hot breath insults
in the faces of passersby,
the toot-toot of elephant busses
and night crawling pedestrians
slink intot he folds of
secret subterranean kitchens,
serving up cannibal meat in slabs.
Now, only the purple fade of skyline,
closes inhellish waves,
dotted with shining white teeth,
which bite faster than the
cumulus can swallow.
Millions of tiny krill jump
dancing in carnivorous jaws,
tight roping the cables of rust weed
and caves of poison vapour,
blind, instinctual destinies,
spanning the waters of the East River.
