What they eat.
What they don’t eat.
What they leave behind, left there to tell you
of their having been.
Their choice of eating.
Their animal and the parts of the animal we are
to remember them by.
That men are foxes or foxes men.
Their red coats, their mouths dripping.
Their want of eating, their always eating.
And their behavior a sojourn or what we call “the hunt,”
what we believe the behavior of someone else, the only way
to explain how you have become someone else.
You might return along an unknown road.
You might remember what it means to go on eating.
But the woman staring at you as you grab your crotch
and lick your mouth is still amazed by what she sees.
I cannot know what I do in this life or what
I have done already.
How I get used by people outside me.
How I don’t stop.