Geoffrey Brock Autobiophagy I bite into the unflinching gray
Body of my past
And tear a piece away.
I chew as long as I can make it last.Later I’m paging through
A little magazine
In a little white-tiled room,
Wondering what this or that might mean,When it reappears,
Darker, more redolent
Of truth than it ever was
In life. And now I fear it’s what I meant.