The brain from which you came is near to my
own mind. The crooked noodles pile inside
our skulls, they squirm with thought of their escape
through ears and nostrils. Eyelids, even better.
They wind and wrap like snakes on paths to deer
which might be wounded, waiting to be swallowed.
Their jaws unhinge in preparation for
the feast of flesh, the beast, the mess. Two brains-
turned ropes of hunger stretched around each other.
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