Voices on the Wind
Party Menu, part two
by Mark Vogel
When nightmare slugs appear by the thousands on chocolate cake
So early in the morning for blood dripping
from a cut finger begging to be licked as despair
builds, saying just devour slugs/slurp first with a tongue,
know only decay as a game after seeing on the table
all going to hell the chocolate cake no longer fresh/
birthday surprise white coconut icing
already grown tough.
Later, like a plan, dynamite surprise fractures the air
Still like a machine, moving is better than inertia
while zipping on bright highway 321/eating
crumbling country ham biscuits as mountain fog collects
in Blowing Rock. Then down the curves
until a dynamite blast shakes the car/spills coffee/
warms the chocolate cream lap the same moment
the radio on cue belches colorless chaos—
alien static saying enough.
Analyzing earthy worm soup—the persistent need to refresh
Two hours with the overdressed committee with
frozen smiles, then released again in hissing highway
logic beaten linear/dreaming a meal wiggling
two pound thick. Divine instructions
with clarity from up high: puncture the worms
until they are ooze, then crumble dried butterfly
wings like thin pastry over half-alive liquid.
Bon appetite, moving and moving.