eggshells

Vomit me
into the open mouths
of a clutch of squawking gods
their beaks yawning to be
quenched


they won't care


that my taste grew sour hair
on your fertile tongue,
that your stomach bucked
clenched
buckled and blenched


they won't care


that it cost you tears
—sobbed out of a black womb:
dry heaves of agony
staring at that blank hotel wall—
to swallow my heart.


they won't care


and they never have.
Eyes boil in fragile eggshell heads
tongues snap,whip-licks
their pinched bellies
distend and crawl with caustic liquor


they won't care


that the void is never full
that I can never sate
their fledgeless thirst
that I am thin gruel, thirdhand
and that you starved to lose me.


they won't care


that I am poison
a shrieking double helix
a steel centipede coiled through young lungs
that even hatchling gods
will choke on.


And when the nest bleeds oceans
and the last croak floats
I'll seep free of gooseflesh corpses, and
crystallise
on the hotel bathroom floor.


From a starless sky your bones
accuse me
sockets gaping from the ceiling.
And in my ears I hear the sound
dry, distant; the rustle of new eggshells


but I won't care