... And the skin opened up into wide, cavernous cracks..
and there was a hissing sound-- a burning smell..
not unlike that of a calf-branding
on an everyday, working South Dakota cattle ranch--
The feathering smoke, curling around the ancient stubs
of that which is as of yet, de-horned.
And there was a raging scream--
yet, one almost as if harmononiously intertwined
with the guttural moans of a pleasure-chant:
that which is borne.. not of victimization,
but of deep, consensual agreement
And, against this kind of liaison between
flesh and death, all the power of love's ache
becomes a l m o s t as if nothing other
than a whisper...
almost.
