Old poems and older poems. The art in here is far more recent - all illustration tiles were made between April 20, 2024 and May 12, 2024.
Some of these poems were published in a chapbook, Eleusinian Mysteries, in 1995, under the pen name Sarah Maddo...
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It's a terrible thing to feel the bones crunch beneath your teeth, flesh tearing off and getting caught to linger, accusing, on the roof of your mouth. To gnaw, after long years of abstinence. To chew. The dust of the road, already choking in your throat, mingles with the dust of bones and fleshy parts and chokes you. You eat, and you die as you eat, and death refuses to hurry.
And then, sweet relief! the blood pouring down your throat, merciful release, sweet firey liquid, terrible and giving, terrible in its giving. All is drowned. All thought of need, all hunger for sense and meaning, is held under the river, drowned. Nothing survives this. You are left shaking and naked, a wan spirit, skin and bones ripped away, body taut with newness, aching for this strange comfort.
After this, all food is too solid, all drink too weak, and the sun burns harsh, bringing tears to your eyes.
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