Lack the predator instinct

I dreamed the secret warm meat of me
Was a topic of blithe discussion.
Friends, family, amateurs all sat
On the leaves of a tree, facing all different directions on a green sunny day.
Taking turns talking and listening.
No one hitting the mark.
No one filling the space with more than a voice.


I lack the predator instinct.
The carcass pillaged,
Meat off the bone.
I suck the marrow from the bone
Then carry the bone in memory of when it had marrow.
And chew to evoke the marrow and the meat
And the promise I made to life and the moment
And the blood and the warmth
And the time I was full.