Karyna McGlynn

Unburdening three pelts into the grease fire

I pursue the hem of what it means to consume
eternally, time don’t mean much—

being the once bad spider I have to consider
my former inclinations with meat and silk
bone unmanned, discrete collections: small, uncountable

fur snaps, licked off the flesh!

how I affixed my position fast, shell buttons down my shroud
but it bothers me, somehow, my sprung
lust irreversible, bell lording its Rube Goldbergian sway

of what I am chained to by virtue of scale, perspective
my own unmaking snapped into plastic place
around me, chutes, pulleys, baited meat hooks

So what if I
appeared unaccountable at the mouth of the butcher
blinking flour, put out, burning a single degree?