Duck-Pond

wholemeal hands

fumbling my body,

greedy hands

tapping like autumn at

a vein, chilling

my skin, pushing out

my hearty filling

and I, a loaf,

am silent.

fingers scratch, flesh slashed,

I think to myself, that is that.

holes grow hollow,

I watch my limbs

dissolve in water,

and I, a loaf,

am silent.

I wear thin,

lighter

hands won’t stop

throwing me

soon I am surrounded in

myself,

soggy dregs, friendless

mush,

and I, a loaf

am