FACTORY SALT AND
BADLY TIMED LIGHTS
What goes into your food is amazing:
What colors and forms all the days
of our lives still astounds. Groundwater
and poisons, hammered and sludged,
dead-carcass animals screaming. We
laugh at old African natives, but we
never laugh back at ourselves.
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The stockyards are filled to a capacity
not tolerated in cities. If this were people,
they'd surely get assistance and programs
and benefits and ease. As it is, we merely
want the poundage that this wild slaughter
then will give us back. For barbecues and
traffic jams; for picnic grounds Cadillacs;
for the sacred killing grounds of the
unremarked-on dead who fates are
nothing and but counted by head.
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I see the same people, adoring of their
doggies and cats, parading no doubts
about consuming 'that.'
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