Now Boil The Bones

No, don't tell me what it means. I want to
figure out the nuances for myself.
Where is your sense of mystery, of life
outside the skin? Dear poet, your tattoed
membrane is a manuscript of scars, but
I would sooner pick my own scabs than gawp
at yours. Write me something strange and full
of wonder that I can quote at dinner
parties. Is this blood or cochineal that
stains each page? Look for cooking metaphors
in the index: A sonnet is a dish
served cold; but I prefer meat and gravy
on my plate. I ask for roast potatoes
and you give me salad. Now boil the bones.