Slash for the Lowlands #16
“I’m a leg never owned
by a prince or a dog,” he confirmed
with a half smile
that made us forget
how legs were traditionally seen
Meanwhile, the captain started sucking
rumored nutrients from the creature,
his tongue slightly curled
at the bottom of his mouth.
And the innards did their dance
with the remaining soft tissue,
in the manner that certain
brands of bubble gum will forgo
flavor for consistency.
A miracle substance, paper, both wrapped his sandwich and communicated the names of several Beatles songs that had never made the cut: “Miss Merkin,” “OK!” “Under Night Sensations”. . .