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Last Supper | by thephohemian
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Last Supper

He looked upon his disciples

and said


“He who casts the dice

will be vindicated”


Astonished, they stared

at him, mouths agape


Theirs was a long silence

Nobody dared to commence

a speech act


All actors speak in tongues

Every cheek needs a tongue

Every secret needs a cheek

to hide the folly of man


Speaking is a discipline

that can be learned


Every once in a while

a disciple needs a bite

to eat


Even the learned

feel the need

to chow down

on a fleshy piece

of mouthwatering sense

from time to time


Across all epochs

of humanity’s

sleepwaking state

the dreamer spoke up

when everyone else

lay still


He bit off a bit of his tongue

tasting the metal

swallowed the pint

and replied


“A dice throw is

akin to onion soup:

as you peel back

the layers, it stings

it takes a bite

out of you

At mealtime

you get your revenge

Supper is always

the last act for someone”


They buried him

in an unknown

unmarked mass grave

just days later

before the soup

could mature enough

to realize its full



His eyes were red

They still had tears

inside them


He smiled a full-belly

smile saying


“The hungry know

how to feed themselves

Every discipline seeks out

its own disciples

Every disciple is subject

to his own discipline

Hunger and its limits are

known only to the hungry”

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Taken on September 25, 2016