(1915 – 1996 )
I just finished eating Peter and washed him down with beer lager beer. He was tender and juicy succulent sugar cured and lean.
I swallowed his heart whole. Sucked his bones clean leaving them in a pile neatly stacked marrowless.
Of his hair I’ll weave a silken jerkin a scarf to wrap around my throat and a sash.
Of his bones I’ll build a bed spend hours lying upon it dreaming his skull a pillow for my head the birds will come there and find me dead.
They will peck me tearing tiny morsels of flesh. Some will fly away dropping me into the sea for fish. The sun will dry me out and the wind scatter flakes of dust over the earth.
Slowly our bones will pulverize as we gradually become powdery the rain blending us together washed across the earth in tiny rivulets seeping down to the roots of the trees grass flowers.