Meat; a poem

I've got all this sad poetry stuck to my ribcage;

the stubborn meat of a dead beast

hiding my heart from the vultures

even though it's screaming to be eaten.

To be pecked and torn and swallowed;

to be the last meal of the starved and the greedy.

Thunder; a poem

Rolling out across the fields she is thunder

on a dark night.

Water drips from her fingertips,

heart heavy with summer rain.

She screams,

cries.

Hunger; a poem

Sometimes hunger feels like emptiness,

a hollow weightlessness,

as if I might float away from everything

and drift into the waiting clouds.