I consume what I have created,
Saturn devouring his son,
and then cry at what I have wrought,
skrik.
Time and space pin me to the spot, above my head
the starry night.
And sometimes all I am is a glove for someone else’s hunger,
a soft self portrait, with grilled bacon.
Vote For Me
-
Recent Posts
“And sometimes all I am is a glove for someone else’s hunger,
a soft self portrait, with grilled bacon.”
Love that sentence.
Thank you!
This was also my favorite part of this one. Along with the image of Saturn devouring his son. I think it was Goya who helped you plant that image in my mind.