Consumption

by Trevor Ketner

 

I was born, as expected,

a boy with desires.

 

In the city something melted—

in the body someone died,

so I ate him—

 

he tasted like sand, warm, and the Lord

loved him more

for what made him holy,

 

so I killed

him and the ground

cried blood.

Poor ghost tied forever

to the bone post he cut himself from,

 

boiled down to a single desire: to be like

the negative of a photo of fire, to be quenched.