Leftovers

They were only half dead,  
infected by bark beetles.    
Together they gathered    
like zombies,      
a riverside cluster    
torn and dismembered    
shuffled to a random array.    
     
Each day someone walks past    
they ignore the un-miraculous,      
avoid the dark exterior    
no one wants to be bitten.    
     
I need the bite    
offering a throat
to be ripped out   
I embrace the group,    
take my place      
but all I find is their grace    
as we feed on the last supper.