Page 31 - Contrast2016

CONTRAST - 29

last word. Don't give them
the satisfaction of giving up:
instead, be a petty, gnarled

resting-bitch-faced bitch, a cunt-faced
witch monster. Dance on
your new cloven hooves.

Become the ominous click of heels
or the safety of a gun to off.
Beat yourself back into vicious

shape. It tastes like a jar of period
blood poured over a garden:
it wrinkles your nose at first

but helps everything grow. From
waste comes want; from spite
hope; from anger life. When

you fill yourself overfull
with it, you learn again
reasons to live. Your field in a steppe

where you grow your fucks
flowers again after the wildfire
and the already-cooked marrow

tastes delicious with bitter chocolate ganache.
Don't rule out hate, either,
but remember: hate is the heroin

of clenched fists, the sweetest of all
poisonous things. Use it sparingly.
This, on the other hand,

you can never have too much of.
Fuck up their carefully schemed plans;
throw a grenade at their heads;

wear your gangrene guts as garters
and make them gag;
shit-talk them to their face &

behind their skinny-bitch back;
walk past their door

and kiss your lover ostentatiously