To the Grill Master | DONTÉ S. TATES

To the Grillmaster

Upon arriving on the Mountain for Bread Loaf inspired by the independence of Lovecraft Country and the 4th of July

DONTÉ S. TATES | VERMONT must I sear my skin for you marinate in the dark and cold make tender your pounding soul onyx my skin to old obsidian

must my flayed flesh fall for you to see meted sadness replete with blanched fears and layered drippings on a catching grate piece by piece crestfallen hisses onto imprisoned fire

skewered upon the barbie what more do you want from me like Eve must I be a rib grilled for your pleasure breathing in my burnt ends savor my char blackened outside inside red raw perfection achieved

slow-cooked in the juices of your preparation would you see my supple color decadent you fork apart my deadenedness am I done never done you seek more crackles in the flame have you thought what burns me burns you

you think you control the heat light the match and we all go up in smoke

plated and served do you even chew or merely sup on and swallow sorrow sass substance sovereignty

my sauces and seasonings stewed for your stymied taste

mouth dry does the itchy roof of your mouth yearn for soothing and succulence scratched with prettyfied niceties and performed meanings licked from inside your cheek and jowl marked gums receding from truth bloody lies salivating in your throat coated with remnant mucus tracing my long memory downward

eyes glazed can you see past consumption consummation with your meal can you stare into my fried eyes your smile with fork in hand then fight your fraught unfeeling separate butchery from your foodways base your impossible taste in only plants and paste

fingers sticky prod yourself not me

the yield in my meat fleshes your curiosity are you done yet did you string me up your knots of love losing yourself casing me In resplendor

repulsed would you prefer no gluten no dairy no MSG you cannot relegate me to clean up the upset in you wet naps or a tongue towel will not bleach your grafty appetite hide your dark gluttony

bloated and taut with the fill of me beyond your gnashing teeth down your gagging throat do I sit well with you burned blackness do I tingle and tinge your digestion onward I possess you before you process me burp me into the air did you get enough

when you find sate what more pleasure can I bring you the duodenal slurry post-stomach the slow jejunal crawl I must take to pass to progress to prosper

Ummm feeling ill

in testing you: do the spices of society a queer pinch of justice the meritocratic meatiness the broiled brilliance outraged at it all keep you lighting a pyre for me

pilot sparked challenge accepted the meal makes the master too don’t forget your IPA wash down your feast feed your fellow clan for you made me the main course there will be no quinoa no salad

living in your bowels I will loose move with celiac discomfort compel with agitation and undulation wriggle out from your wicked insides bubble them with guttural delight exploding in a new world born through tasting a devout unwishing your delectable sin

undoing you baptizing me revealing you