1162
for those who have been eaten
a little song we sing past sleep
no ashes to scatter
rarely a stone for consolation
no plaque will say
‘the cattle fell here’
but after the ages of spear, fire,
rend
you made the menu at last
among the proofs of civilisation
it’s hard to see how a god will serve
so few spat out again
though there are days in the whale
our arteries choked
we, to the same vanishing,
who gorged and rot
with
motive
means
and opportunity
have been a kind of buffet
what shall we say?
too little too late?
what solace is symmetry
time was, will be
it’s not whether you win or lose
but down the hatch
and down you go
enough, you were delicious?
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