Who put Mans Laughter into Manslaughter?
Perhaps some sinister cosmic comic,
who is possibly a Nazi sympathiser!?
Mow! Mow! Mow!
The Cow never said much more than that.
He didn’t need too. It made perfect sense.
A Man will do a hard job with precision,
because he believes it makes him more of a Man.
He will not abandon the enitre notion of work,
because he does not know how else to be a man.
Or how else to labour in time…
In short: he does not know how to rest,
how to retain contentment,
how to paint…even badly.
What passing bells for those who die as Cattle?
No bells but carhorns, imbecile teenagers,
petty thieves, drugged students of factory education,
and raging Fathers sacrificed for the children:
Hasty Orisons: these street observations provide!
Marching along, all of us, brazenly ignoring,
the great funeral procession.
They Slit the throat of the Cow’s
and the blood pours out rich like
thick red paint from a bucket.
The animal judders spasms,
Saint Vitus Dance style,
moving like a handicapped child
in a wheelchair;
shaking like a bowl of jelly
on a table upon a summer’s day.
Like a grea volt of elecricity
had shattered and fried the entire
physiology. This scene will be repeated
thousands of times today and it is shocking
and sickening but it will not make this
steak before me taste anything less than Holy!
