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Playing chicken with the rotten wash that foamed his nose to the sinuses, fork hovering back-and-forth with hesitancy for this ‘delicacy’. Looking neither animal nor plant, perhaps a little wormish, insectoid, maybe part tentacle, for sure artificial, puffed-up suckers to drain his insides. But he’s a guest at this party, who swallow this monster with pride. So he follows suit, opens wide and takes a plunge - in a gushing rush of gangrenous juices, souring his teeth and making mincemeat of his cheeks, dragging the inside of his throat down with it, producing the urge to throw it all up. But he’s a guest and so he smiles, tongue tied up in terrible treacle, trying to masticate tar and rubber, dreading what the main course might bring.
A Finely Processed Delicacy - A Poem by Tom Shaw
This poem originally came out of a writing session run by
as part of her Poetic Library Spotlight series. With a theme of “Hunger and Disgust”, in response to “Hunger” by , we wrote a poem with a particularly unsettling banquet image prompt. I don’t have the original image, but I thought it would be fitting to let AI generate some monstrosity in-keeping with the nature of the poem. I think it did well.Music: Musique De Table. Seconde Production. (Banquet Music II): Trio in E Minor
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With gratitude,
Tom