Poem: The Beautiful Chef


How can I

Take this sorrow

This pain

This agony

And turn it

Into something


I set the cauldron bubbling

And, climbing in

I take off my skin

My organs

My limbs

My bones

All of my memories

All of my experiences

I take them off

And throw them into

That bubbling morass

Churning it into

A milky froth

I see all of the pain

Of a million lifetimes

Horrifyingly distilled

Into a fetid ooze

The kind of maleficent syrup

Sadistic Victorians

Would feed to their children

I turn up the heat

And wait for my soul to scald

Waiting for the vajras

Waiting for the diamonds

And waiting for the body

That knows no body

But I feel helpless


And ignorant

I need a professional chef

Who will know just how

To prepare me

Season me

Cook me


Let me be a tasty dish

That the universe will want to consume

 I want so much

To be a part of everything again

To be one with everything again

Instead of feeling

Like a despicable morsel

No one would want to eat

Let alone smell

I need help

I need a culinary expert

Who knows

How to tame the spirit

And make it sacred

Because at the moment

In this loving demon’s arms

I simply do not know how

To make this rotting dish


At all


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