I hunt down the mutant satsumas
I find the poorly formed segments and I devour them
I tear into them and I digest ferociously
efficiently
I'm a monster in the world of fruit
hunting down the weak

I opened the door and found someone's keys jammed in the lock
a pair of boxers on the floor
the sign of a neighbour having had an adventure
drunken
naked
denied entry
glorious.

When Cain and I were at the cafe
a woman with bristles on her chin sat at our table
she manhandled the cat to make her space on the spare chair
and then she sat
silent
drinking tea.
Cain asked her what she thought about the Mayor.

In my dream last night, oh God, my dream last night...
In a kitchen, with friends
we were trying to cram my dead, stiff body into an oven
you see, we had to cook it, that was the rule
but I was disgusted
I kept expressing my doubts
admitting that even though I had a new body,
there was something unsettling, something wrong
about cramming my former body into an oven
something cheap
and then, of course, it was only wearing boxer shorts
and I kept thinking 'are they going to take them off, to look at my cock?'
my body had eyes of pure black
and it would not fit
so we had to stop.

When you are at the top,
people seem to just let you get on
few ever cast a doubt, ever pause to wonder
'what if the King is out of his mind?'
And here, nobody assesses the assessor
who hears confession from the Confessor?
I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, 
were it not that I have bad ass dreams
the King is mad
the people are following him into the Abyss 

My variegated dead old dream body 
my fictive failed cremation 
veridical, dream elided into day

abutting the corner of tomorrow 
my cafe manners dissimulating horror 
my perfidious cafe manners, 
satsuma eating cunnilingus kinging treachery. 

I betray my own body.