I have dined on the deviled, the pickled, the rude:
neckbones, ears, feet, knees.
Hope farrows plate after plate:
The mediocre hope to sanctify the vulgar with prayer.
A steely pig won't be prayed for jowl by jowl.
Stand fast. Grief is a gondola, a compulsive
of neurons, endorphins, titans rubbing
Note this Hercules. I pull back, he claws
keeps another company beneath
I remember how it was to see David
the robotic insistence of daylight then dark.
I once worked at place that telemarketed pork hooks and anal thermometers for meat packing plants. I wrote "Lob" on their dime. "Cloven by Cloven" was written five years later, over a dinner of Iowa chops.