by Polly Grant Butler
inside an ad there is an ad and it is saying eat me I tell myself even mary would have gagged on cock, after all was said and done a laptop on a bed brings the devil into focus it says the ring of fire is a burger and a breast the breast is the bottle and its absence is a presence to fuck is to eat and abstaining is transcendent sliding down my hands I want it fat and wet like a morning shit like I’m doing it quick the taste of butter curdling in my spine I sip the day like a cheap charade book film or play it’s all you. anyway. how your milky taste belies the body but this is a body, a stuffed buffet fisting into fullness. the news has a sponsor with a finger down its throat I bargain with delivery drivers to see the world up close I want you like I am a baby and you are the nipple on the screen they say I’m loving it, the eternal sauce I’m loving it, to be hungry is to be unspecific and I refuse anything not vague mustard licked hands fluorescent screaming light Polly Grant Butler lives in Adelaide, where she works for independent publishing house Wakefield Press. She writes poetry and short stories.
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January 2025
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