Meat, Meat, Meat, Meat, Meat
it’s what they, like, do. Slaughter. Eat. Sandy
-shored Pylos: horns leafed gold, a stunned calf
collapses. Hemoglobin jets. Royal 
women held her. Keen now. Consider [yowling] 

100s butchered [yowling] time & time 
to temper Athene or Olympus’s  
Big Voice [self-turned to eagle, bull, swan, shepherd, 
that he might have]. Consider the mutton-drunk feast 

of these post-trauma crews, 6 per ship 
toward a hecatomb [when from fog survivors 
lunge them-ward] to the Kikonian dead. Or lotos 

gluttons’ nerve-zap yearning. What we want 
assembles in chewy flesh, ruled [like gods] 
by no-relenting stomach-turn toward the substantial. 
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