Caseation Of Flesh Poem by Michael Troy Buffo

See this man who has drowned in the river
Watch me as I make a feast of his liver.
Eating his flesh as it slips through my fingers
With the rot and decay and the stench that still lingers,

Tossing his bones to the scavengers that wait,
As I ponder the remains of his poor bloating mate.
I know if I take my knife and I stick her,
That wonderful smell in the air will grow thicker.

Competition for food out here in the wild,
Is not what one would exactly call mild,
So back to my cave will I probably drag her,
For only safe in my lair will I use my dagger.

You’re probably wondering why I picked up this strange habit,
And don’t just go out and kill a nice rabbit.
I simply enjoy the smell and the caseation of flesh
To the point of convulsing when I find something fresh.