I dream in terms of

I dream in terms of

london broil trembling from the paprika flush,
turmeric walloping bone sides, soaking in a ruddy pan, and diced
charred peppers placed in paper
bags to let the skin slough,
black olives barnacled on every knuckle, brine sucked
down, carrot and curry relish,
sliced squash, little rings like inverse egg yolks,
butternut squash, cubed with tooth marks
all little trails towards

raw potato crunching
strong white teeth in strong white potato flesh
yellow onions crunched through, all the strong flesh foods
the strong flesh foods with skins
papery skins bending against the tooth points

the sour soups and cumin smacked pork chops are too
sweet and subtle, the cilantro twang in my
sleep-moaning voice calls for the toughest

rustic unwashed chicken thighs spiced in juniper,
bitter hot oil simmering and spitting,
rubbing my teeth incessantly against the banisters
gnawing on the spice tang of table legs, toothing away
the splintering wood, the sogging wood slivers
in search of

the raw foods, the salty slide of eggshells
the snap of lamb racks heaving under rosemary,
my acidic shallow breathing calls for
the raw foods, for
in my dream I am also raw