It mocked the meat it fed upon

[I]f it con­cerns any­thing not in our con­trol, be pre­pared to say that it is noth­ing to you.

- Epicte­tus, The Enchirid­ion as trans­lat­ed by Eliz­a­beth Carter

O, yes I saw how you said
what you said to him. That
flirt to fuck and sweet hip
shook once. I gave a glower.
Tense mute brow a bent 
soot streak. In silence,
the mind accretes a heap
of imagined infidelities.

Though we entangle. Become
the roaring fire gullet the
frenzy wrangle the
clutch [[g][r]]asp torrent.
You in the shower and 
I should be in with but I'm
reading texts on your phone or
scouring your email my
skull a black iron set by the
stove innocuous until
you touch it.
                               Some books say: 
                               "To be possess is to hold, occupy
                               or reside in, without regard to 
                               ownership." "It does not belong
                               to you." "Repent, therefore, of this
                               thy wickedness." 
The way I stood over
those many women, still,
with silent loom, tangent
phrase, fear beyond
the closed door more than me.
but not for long, long ago, no longer.

                               Nor now allow all freedom, no 
                               eye-heat adrenaline-
                               hand snap-tongue withering. 
                               Morph yet not to bud a peach
                               but die to whitefly. Seed-
                               germ split to, spilt upon,
                               spit on, ground down to ground

                   for growth
                   unlikely.   Every alley a false Buddha. Our
                               spoons have long handles. We cannot 
                               feed ourselves, 
                                               but we could 
                                               feed each other.
           Learn to speak
           muzzled ox, or starve
           with food upon your back.