What I are

I can feel the sinews
of my arm. What would,
if eaten, be considered
gristle.
I like to imagine
my liver.
Large bloody bulk.

I often forget
I am made of parts.
Gooey mechanisms
slick sections
upon dissection
hunks of tissue.

I find solace
in the realisation
that I
and you
and We
are meat.

Envy the dogs.

Avarice and hate
and excess fear
are symptoms of
an enlarged brain.

Envy the dogs.

The End

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