Brains, Brains, Brains

November 4, 2014

Original

Puneet Dutt has a MA in English. She is working on a book of poems and a novella inspired by posthumanism, which explore the human, animal, machine, and digital ghosts in all of us. Her poems have been published in Canadian Literature, White Wall Review, and by the League of Canadian Poets (online). She is an American residing in Toronto with her husband. Follow her @Puneet_Dutt.

most times we wait

for bone harvest

to flesh

for first sigh of blood

for grunt work’s spin

we guard our knees

drag our limbs

tilt scarred hands towards amber dusk

and rise from the trenches

our unmoored unalivenees

moans

somewhere inside of us

where dark things scratch

blood heat’s caw

awakens our belly clocks

as sharp as book spines

our meals are co–authored

shameless gang —

braining fantasies

anthropophagical cravings

newborn thighs

silk fine lust

stacked husband plucked from football monday’s

with beer dripping breasts

divorcee tongues marinated in rocket sauce

first bite fractures the undeadness an inoperable splinter

tendon snaps puncture what lay so still

lopped off

murdered potential coils down the dry pipes

and for a second

we feel alive

flash feeling

of human’s

electric hum

in lean years

we huddle potato–eyed

squat in dumps

shatter bird cliques with spare limbs

peck at survival

groan all night

for next day could be dust day

our heads in our lap

we do not ask

simply paddle by osmosis

learning as we feed toe by bloody toe

to carry on

we pick at scabs and lumps scalding side–alley dumpsters

sacking three or four a night easy

a bare sputter to drink a patch of marrow to suck

gorging the meager rations

after all this should be enough

to wail without memory

to lug our breathless bones

to consume checklists of menued parts

but no

we are a dangle of arrested hooks

warring day and night for plasmic gore

for brains

brains

brains

to fill this haunting of our belly ghosts

we are not the bad guys

recognize stars

listen to the mad thrust

of a trapped house fly

pounding at a closed door

cannot summon feelings but go on

we see can see

we see ourselves in these things when we eat

© Puneet Dutt

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4 Comments

  1. Lucinda Johnston

    Puneet! I love this poem.

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