More from my Muse, Laura:
When you ask Laura what does she want, be prepared to give her everything.
Give me your fear, says Laura. Slice it like a loaf of bread and feed it to me, one slice at a time. Spread it with guilt jam and honeyed hatred, sprinkle it with granulated anger. Serve it toasty hot or moldy cold, pour the gravy of suspicion over it, dip it in soft-boiled cowardice.
Give me your fear, says Laura. Fry it up like a hamburger patty, float it in grease laden with lust. Dust it with hot spices from jealous southern countries, and top of it, lay a couple of spiteful onions.
Give me your fear, says Laura. Mash it into puree and serve it, iced, in bejeweled dessert dishes, and garnished with a sprig of minted greed. Brew it like strong Turkish coffee, concentrated terror to make the heart race, presented daintily in tiny porcelain cups.
It doesn’t matter, says Laura, I will eat it all, and it will be delicious.
©2000, Eating Mythos Soup: poemstories for Laura
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