CURDLING
The blood that is running out of that curdling cow's
mouth makes me scream in turn for its heart. I cannot
stand idly by while butcher men do what they do : to
eat; to interdict the life-force God-spring of Life for
their paltry, festive ways. I barbecue their souls
within the furnace of my heart, these men - who
are the chumly beasts instead - until their singed,
dead passions fade and live returns to living things.
-
What is this place we inhabit, walk upon, and live?
If not a shared community of breath and observation
then what is it for? Why breath? Until Mankind respects
itself, it shall not respect all other things. They've made
the death of life be found within the living of this ground.
Oh foul oasis, take me far from here.
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