Potato Soup

My eyes fell out in July,
Landed right into my
Potato soup and buoyed
Ooey-gooey eyeball
In a hot steamy brothel
Of chopped chives
And pubic hairs.

Without eyes,

My heart sits like
A loaf of cornbread
To be washed down
By more water
And more blood
And potato soup.

The heat pounds

Its way out of my
Back, And I wish
I could remember
Another recipe.