"The Unbearable Lightness of Being", Eleanor Neo
i swallowed their fridge the other day and felt in my gullet
a brief percussion of twenty beers, but that was it.
the woman turned slim and vegan after a spin in the pocket
of my belly, but now she runs from me, it’s fine.
i am still treat-less, bottomless - ate a syringe while the vet’s
back was turned but the scale only ticked for a flicker.
sometimes the ring they threw into my feed echoes deep
from down-where, but it’s like licking the empty of catnip.
the nearest thing to kin in this house is a crude purring box
and two metal slabs, but they don’t rub or paw back.
marie kondo in one of them says to throw out what doesn’t
bring joy, but though I heave with my soul I only cough up air.