Hunger

Profane hunger of
our saints, our saints
hold sterling forknife
strung with silk handkerchief
while criminally wholesale
self-satisfying warehoused
currency pools power in bile acid

Our saints, their plates
We fill
ad fork,
architect porcelain.
We scream they swallow
and screams
now somber sighs,
faintly resonate
from a gaping esophagus