The little man was dressed up like a turkey,
raw legs plucked naked
as a wet cat and blood streaming from
his asshole cavity, skinny little
wings looking so pathetic I could just
squeak, and I guess I did cause he shot
me a look like mind your own
perversion and this deep in I couldn’t
resist, “Thanksgiving was rough on all of us;”
“Like I care about your problems,” he sniffed,
“A carcass happens to be prime protection
from the cold this time of year, and I prefer
wearing what I eat, I’ve got to feel a part
of its life—I’m in it and it’s in me like
trichinosis comes alive and stumps
the mission of Fatima before man,
an angel on each shoulder and the best
damn hospitals in the world ready to fix
every ill, and I am not just what I
eat, I am what eats me”—I said
“Pardon me, but I have a date with a
cabbage”

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