Hunger

i. (herbalist)

one arises from austere and bucolic daydreams as though they were the sea,

far away on Aiaia where she tends the serpents and step-sons.

“they call me witch, and i smile, and they fear me, 

and they call me witch, and i smile, and fill my pocket with rose petals and the laughter of their children.”

one flees into the arms of England, far from the orange-grove ennui, and she loves thee, she loves thee, ferociously.

meanwhile the wolves take their tea by candlelight, golden before the world knew the Polaroid, when birds fell from the sky in the exact places where skyscrapers would someday be.

ii. (hunter)

the Holy Beast has teeth! 

is covered in them, yellow and cratered, dripping pink with the flesh.

an eternity of gums!

he drowns in cerise but always awakes again,

sinks through to the bottom and emerges in a new world every time.

the virgin approaches him weeping, pointing to the rank scraps of meat between his teeth,

crying “that’s my dog! you ate my dog!”

and he smiles his million smiles, unspeakably wide and says,

“darling, i AM your dog.”

and he howls a howl to wake all the mutts in London.

Sammy Aiko