Inanimate Object

May 15, 2008 - 09:43 AM PST


preservation pervades while
disgust registers in most eyes,
but a few sparkle,
those sharp scalpels
glinting in flourescence

reach in, said the voice in my head, even as the instructor gave the same direction.
note the cold, anterior flesh glide past your hands,
slide across the ribcage, the split and yawning sternum.

i'd like to tear down, make a crude and ragged passage
towards her cunt,
towards her cold unfeeling thighs.

there must be more than
these veiled and couched organs,
something to identify meekness or willingness
or shame

perhaps there are yawning cavities,
seats of decay that have
coyly escaped our best efforts
to preserve,
to retain.

flesh does not warm this table
breath does not cloud the steel i use
to open her

i wanted her warmed,
to light a cigarette and blow the smoke into her eyes, mouth, and the gaping hole in her chest.

i once saw a heart lifted out of a cadaver.
they said she was a homeless rape victim.
almost too much filth for one sentence,
the mental images roiled inside me
threatening to seep out from my tightly
compressed lips.

i found i envied this rag-doll woman
whom we so conveniently prodded and
sliced apart.