a side of beef

For your Francis Bacon: 

This is my soul

The blue specter of not death
Un-death and never waning
Always dying, never dead
The dust within this tunic breathes
A gust of plagues fans the fire of -

There is no flame, no spark
No glowing coals
Only smoke,
and the lack of oxygen

The nine winds of freedom blow
But these curtains of -
These shoulders of -
The gore bodies and rotted strings
of -
The wings of shock and meaty pride
Are heavy

This man is bones and dust
When will he depart?


S. Sparling