This thing may leave my body,
taking the pathways in my arms with it.
Imagine pulling a fish spine
from a half eaten corpse.
That’s a panic attack.
The bones are discarded, but
continue, eat the demolished flesh.
The bubbling soup has a sound too,
and nothing depends on it to live,
yet the youngish Chinese waitress relights
the flame when she sees
the soup doesn’t beat anymore,
as though it does.
Don’t you think it’s a little cruel to cut something in half,
just so you can splay both eyes to see you eating?