My eyes became the sun
The meat was raw and glistened in these eyes i keep.
This meat tasted like grass manure puke.
It's fat had tipped toward rancid
The bloody center offputting
The waiter was drunk and swaying in his boots
The old lady of the house was cackling and mumbling
Spouting words spontaneously
I paid the two hundred and split
It wasn't file mignon it was just gristle
So left but I hadn't eaten
Behind the cars of the parking lot
sat a cook and a waitress sharing a joint
The smoke smelt like grass manure puke