THE SOUL IN THE MOUTH OF ANIMALS

Don’t look back at a life like death.

The digestion of dreams is slower than

our final destiny. In any language the verb to be

ends always at the slaughterhouse. Come quick

to drink the sacred chalice. I have chosen such a wine

for this night. Later I will undress your flesh while you say:

take, this is my body: I am

my body on its way to yours. There is no burial

for meat is useful and the soul has turned to rot in the mouths

of animals. The immaculate essence of history

is transmuted into matter for the delight of the chosen.