Bulimic by Robert Beveridge

You tell me

yes, tell me again

after each time you eat

the flesh of human desire

of human consumption

 

you vomit out the fatigue

you feel at being one of many

one of the mindless pack

of maddening humanity

 

look at the little boy

turn his head

until his neck

sprouts—you

can be that way too

 

only then

when you have realized

you must take

the good with the bad

only when you see

that axiom

can you grow in your humanity

only when you can stop

vomiting

that dead grey flesh

will you feel human

again

•••
BIO: Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Chiron Review, Pink Litter, and The Literateur, among others.

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