The Hunger of Ned Greaves



Stefan picked the book from the table by the register. The Hunger of Ned Greaves, Poems by Peter Liu. He opened to the middle and began to read.


Day 28


Ned lifted the electric saw from his little white table

From his little white table with the iris freshly cut

He brought the saw to my face

He brought his face so close to my face

The fog in his goggles

The saw began to sing that same old song

Who am I?

at one with the curve of the little white vase


Stefan grimaced and flipped to the blurbs on the back.


The journal of a man flayed and eaten alive, an odyssey of awakening. He takes you along for the ride.

—Booklist

“That’s a great fucking book,” someone said. Stefan looked up to see a clerk with a black vest and a red mohawk. “Peter Liu’s what you’d get if Rumi and Rilke boned and made a baby.”

Stefan laughed.

“High praise,” he said and read a few more poems.

First person, a diary in verse of Peter Liu, chained to the wall in a bare room where another man, Ned Greaves, slowly excised parts of his flesh and ate him alive over the c