Sliced

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Frustrating taste for flesh 
behind a glass window
and only seeing fresh onlookers. 
The inky look behind glassy eyes, 
a string of blood smeared against a slide. 
Mouth dry from arousal and a hope
that licked lips will come back 
with a trace of juice. 
The jungle concrete plans attacks against the unjust, 
and I smoke the creeps from the underbelly, 
just long enough to serve them on a dinner table. 
You want to speak justly? 
I have a few tricks to show 
that will expand your mind 
like blood on a slide.

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