Jasmine Templet: body

tookerm —  May 18, 2012 — Leave a comment

body

swarming over the pigs
he spots the cracked window
flies inside, zooming around
pie maybe ice cream maybe discarded fruit
she opens her mouth
swallows the fly
inside the mouth is wet, moist
he’s not sure what happened
he flies, the water drenching him
she swallows convulsively
the mouth opens
air-freedom
he makes a mad desperate leap
she swallows and he’s gone
down down down
the stomach opens, envelops
he dissolves
remembers a rainforest
like a lush green city
great giant leaves and cool air
imagine

 

Jasmine Templet lives and works in a city that constantly smells of crawfish and the shattered dreams of tiny tiara wearing little girls. She’s had a few poems published online, but nothing major. She hopes to one day buy enough Twinkies to build a castle out of them.

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