(WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT) Comments

I know my poetry means nothing
other than in a world you are absent from.

I have a hoof in place of a heart
and a hair ball instead of a liver.

Do you think I carried the candle for it?
What are you staring at, József Attila?

A blazing accordeon riffles through
the compacted singing of a chunk of meat
which must be gulped down in hiding.

Amidst the rabble, the shy senile cannibal
is kissing his own hands
splattering with saliva
the cheek of a coddled swine
who's laughing and staggering

staggering horribly on the gallows.
...
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