born in bundles
under hooks and clamps
in the damp dark
in the hard lack

what agony distorts
the music in the hall
echoes of roars
laments through the walls

riding to the abattoir
with moist protruding eyes
a fox and a baby ox
wearing our finest coats

of name untold and pain unsure
in the penultimate hour of the day
a shadow, a murmur, an imprint in the bed
the smallest child next door is dead

The world outside is quiet now
but there is music in the room
sweet mechanical staccato
to the rhythm of machines
a marching tune to depart
in wonder toward the setting stars

decant me
spill the vintage of my veins
into every open mouth

dissect my body
offer a wet sliver to every stranger
who thought me ornamental

give it all away

but whisper
in the hush between incisions
that I am yours

yours to unmake
to savor like nectar from a flower
to flay with reverence

and leave
an elegy of viscera
no one wants to keep