=the quiet its screaming=

(antonin artaud)                 

What sits there so quiet
at head of the table
its back up
its thumb up at twelve o'clock high
on its plate its meat cowers
obligingly bleeding
it want someone talking
it watching it waiting
its eyes searching faces
who will it be?

This is the family
that's happy 
that's normal
this is the family
as what meant it should be
why are they button-eyed
slumped down
their lips stitched together
why don't they speak
what secrets they keep?

Here is no stump-leg
no fistfights
no bottle-smash
no blackout in vomit
no teeth on the floor
here is no lamb's head
staring up from the platter
no cow-gut
no pig's ass
no quiver on anyone's fork
here food is normal
pre-packaged it clean-cut
it supermarket
it grade-A
saran-wrapped as meant it to be
so why aren't they eating
just chewing & chewing
why aren't they talking
pretending to swallow
it poison to be?

It fist on the knife 
it tightens it tightens
the room growing smaller
with nobody speaking
why aren't they speaking
even louder than then

say something goddammit
the quiet its screaming
it singles it out
each throat with its lump
this isn't the family
it raises its arm
its knuckles it whitens
the dishes are ringing
this isn't the family
the salt tower shaking
the shadows are fleeing
leaving bodies behind

this isn't the family
it leaps from the table
knocking over the chair
this isn't the family
this monster they're making
conspiracies whispering
inside of the walls
it flees from the table
where the meat still lies bleeding
its knife in its hand
it ranting it raving
the mirrors it breaking
it madness their horror & fear it is making
this monster
this madman
this isn't the way
it supposed it would be
this myth they're all making
this father
not he

(for Artaud)