by Corey Ginsberg

Scalding tips as I crunch your ivory armor
into spider webs, peel the flaky fragments
from your oblong eyeball,

and cradle you, naked in palm, under the spigot.
You wobble wild on the counter,
a drunken ice skater attempting infinity.

I try to imagine
your previous life — the hollow bird cavity
you mistook for outermost shell.

Who first thought to eat you, strange animal fruit?
Was it a hungry traveler raiding the roost,
searching for breast or thigh but willing to settle

for your jaundiced, unblinking eye?
Or is it human nature to explore each hidden galaxy
and its suspended sun, one careful bite at a time?