Sin Eater
Give me the meringue,
broken and weeping.
Burial cake, funeral biscuit,
the wife beater’s teapot whistling at dawn.
Tell the wolves I’m home
to take their tarnish on my tongue,
assume their stain and sickness.
My stomach roiled
and pitched, my sails filled
with the devil’s wind
until I learned to dine alone,
to burn the bowl and platter.
For thy peace I pawn my soul.

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