Honeyboned

i
The animal urge is strong,
see how it stretches
its jaw with longing,

girds its loins with oil
and rouses hunger's glistening
pulse and throb. Even the weeds
are sprightly, green with vigour.

Among the vibrant grass is a cat.
Long soft smokey fur
and khol-rimmed, golden eyes.

She crouches over her prey,
lets the wing fan open,
allows a small fluster,
then catches the ruffed throat
to her again.

She scents the bones already -
toasted honey.

ii
There are dead birds
in the next room.
No heads, just wings
and tails, sometimes
laid in rows,
but also scattered.

The wings are cloud white,
hunched, as though lifting glory.
Here and there a surprise
of small mauve curls, like grapes,
have spilled from underneath.

A man is shouting -
shouting -
waving his broken penis
in my face.

I don't know how to fix it.
All I can think of
is to leave as fast as I can -
and the rows
of beautiful corpses.