Preservative 220

I killed a kraken in a wading pool today
and buried it in my back yard.
I ate the stomach of the thing and gleaned
an underwater history of consumption
and a life of hiding in the dark.
The bullet that killed it,
I ate it.
The spear that killed it, I ate it too.
The hook that caught it, I ate it.
Now I'm full of sulphur dioxide because
I ate the shitty bottle of red wine
that was also in the guts of the thing.
I'll be farting all night.
There is enough time to get to the toilet and kill again.
First paralysis, then death.
Shatter the first, second, third vertebrae, death is immediate.
Eat the hand and then the stomach muscles.
Gorge on the grot and parasites rampant in my own foulness.
Make yourself your own meal.
I am the kraken.
I am my favourite food on which to gnaw, to learn, to watch.
I am my favourite thing,
to make as a meal for myself
and for others.