Take Human Bites

Two fingers are pressed against my
wrist
pulling down the rope bridge tendon
within
the bleached fish lutefisk, shielded inside a freezedried
tomato

Two fingers are pressed down to check
my pulse.
Patting my chest and
my pockets and
my jacket.

I'm so sadly unattractive.
My hands are damp and too cooled,
sunlit by dungeon flames.
Pulse-checking down on
my skinned wrist,
the dungeon floors are wrought
with ropes and
mud covered.
with lots of
dirt and water, I help build up our empire
back to the skies over civilization, clumpy and lock-wed.
My honorable ambitions fill the wise city's heritage-bins.

My empire needs a sewer system, ceramic tiles blue and white,
butt-brown with sludge.
My empire needs a dishwasher
in order to clean the lipstick off of coffee cups
that would otherwise sit in steamy hospitals next to Nurses,
perched next to cranberry sugar scones.

Hopefully, there'll be a few bites left for me.