Issue Three – October 2015
MAYHEM
ISSN 2382-0322
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R.V. ten Hove
Fleece
Share this chunk of me.
Yes shear this lamb,
That underneath
The white-snow fleece
You meat the mud-dark beast.
He feasts on malcontentment
Maggots that bevel
deep in winter cloaks.
He dregs the wine for clots of blood
Hid in the magenta fluid.
Yes shear this lamb, revealing
Coarse hide baldened in pink patches
Where crusted heads of wounds peel
Places the rider’s leather saddle chafed.
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© Copyright remains with the individual author
Issue Three – October 2015
MAYHEM
ISSN 2382-0322
______________________________________________________________________________
The crook’d driver whipped from cratered lips
The honeyed ooze and drip
Mingle with spittle
Creaturely mass you collapse
With the twang of a shaft
Muffled bleet, bleet,
The thrash of groundless, cloven feet
That knife will not do
Perhaps one sword
to sever the neck
Next an axe
Two pummels to the head
Render those wormy nerves dead.
Pull those stringy seams free
Serve them veins on a platter for all to see
Lying in limpid delicacy.
Taste them
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
© Copyright remains with the individual author
MAYHEM
Issue Three – October 2015
ISSN 2382-0322
______________________________________________________________________________
Spit them up if you must
Or thrust them through your guts
Devoured or half chewed
Served to my audience
This chunk of me
Slathered in snow-white fleece.
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© Copyright remains with the individual author