The waiter is a housefly abuzz in the spilled,
Darting blackly slick to slick,
Unafraid of god: the children have killed
God in an unashamed molecular trick,
Mashing their food with fisty pique,
In shameless eyes ringing the table –
The boy with the dog-bite on his cheek,
The blonde on your leg, the redhead on your ankle.
Straight up steely knives, oily guns,
The children prepared all day to eat
You, to cut you down.
Up and down you, their interstate, they run.
You teach them language:
Angelina Jolie
Is a Name of Many
Orifices,
Bill Bob Thornton hops
And skips, from the
Lane of Missing Teeth.
There is no death,
only the moment
When the universe
collects your bits.
Go ahead. Hope you dissolve into grandeur.
Around the table,
glittering eyes of children.