<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=548055" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Caving In, White, Salted Flesh</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The only sound<br>He makes is the one he makes<br>With his fingers, snapping off<br>A pincer, boiled-red, shelled husk<br>Caving in, white, salted flesh<br>Rising like clouds, fraying.<br>My mother watches all this<br>Like a rapt audience. If she could, <br>She would rise up in a passion<br>To applaud, convinced she is<br>Not the metaphor in the bowl, <br>Pink leg dangling, suspended<br>Over the rim, chest in pieces, <br>Spooned and well-dug, emptied.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Cyril+Wong">Cyril Wong</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=548055" data-title="Caving In, White, Salted Flesh de Cyril Wong" data-description="The only sound He makes is the one he makes With his fingers, snapping off A pincer, boiled-red, shelled husk Caving in, white, salted flesh Rising like clouds, fraying. My mother watches all this Like a rapt audience. If she could, She would ris..."></div> </div> </div>

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