Craw
By Atsuro Riley
Split the boy —his thorax, throat
Pierce-peel the craw:
A jag-crystalled crust —his black scoria, slag
(not Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled)
What no gizzard ground (could hope to grind)
What would not mesh
What would not smelt
Embedded undigested there in meat
Source: Poetry (April 2011)