Hungry

The day is fragments –
sharp and tiny shards –
to touch them is to bleed.
No meaning or intention:

Being doesn’t care.
A flood of blood would
merely be what’s there.
How strange the votive thing

we make of motive!
Stories we must tell.
Alternatives to hell.
Though hell’s another story.

I am trapped in hungry
semi-sentient mammal meat,
and I do not know what

to give the thing to eat.

.