And all I do is eat’
I go to write and all I do is eat;
my fingers find the food and like the way it feels so much
I sometimes think I’ll push it under my nails
so they can have a taste of what leaves their faces greasy.
And when I play tennis I don’t play tennis but eat anything everything
clay and Astroturf and your horrible biscuits,
I shovel it all in with my racket hands and they never seem
to hold enough to satisfy my mouth
which is big enough for countries to be founded in.
Or maybe I find a drink of something
and pour it down my throat like a sculptor filling a mould with
gallons and gallons of floury plaster, filling myself
with whatever I can lay my hundred hands on,
music even, I put it on and let it fill my head
like a gardener filling a bucket with slugs and snails
till they’re so densely packed the weight begins
to crack shells and suffocate those at the bottom,
I can’t get enough, you think I’m not serious but I can’t get
serious enough, in my dreams I’m stripping trees from leaf to root
or giving head with the hunger of an animal in the desert,
burying my face so deep I can see the origins of mankind
and softly desperately gulping away like those awful eels called gulper eels.
I’m addicted to my open mouth, I find stuff and I put it in my face,
my mouth when empty is thinking about being filled with anything,
food drink sex worms Tinder smoke kissing paper anything,
anything I see I shove it in my mouth
and I don’t care how many teeth I lose. I saw a film
of a farm where geese were piled high
and men stuck a machine called the hand of god
in their little long throats and pumped them with grain
till they could barely stand, and this is torture, so why
although there is grain dripping out of my nose and ears
and my hundred hands in bloody twisted knots do I still feel empty
and want you to fill me fill me I’m a sewer
waiting for all the shit in the municipality to come coursing down the drains
into my hungry hungry eager wide wide open yes yes mouth
fill me fill me fill me fill me oh
teach me how to eat myself away and maybe then I’ll rest.
unpublished poem, © Adham Smart 2019, used by permission of the author.