Flayed lord of the harvest
Robed in mortal’s meat
He wears men’s hands upon his hands
Feet upon his feet

Human faces are wrapped tight across his darkened skull
In his hands he grips the fertile seeds

In his likeness
Dresses the mortal priest

Before the reap of the planted
The harvest must be blessed
The fatal flint of arrow tips must pierce through limbs and breast
It must coax the sanguine
To spurt in river flows
Their death brings balance
Clouds and godly quenching heaven rain

After the earth is slaked
The seeds must be kissed
Kissed by the cracking sounds of flesh
Torn by tearing whips
Just as the skin is split
So shall the shell of seed
The maize will flourish in tall stalks of vibrant fibrous greens

At rite’s final end
The mortal priest shall dance
He shall feel the skin upon his skin
The hands upon his hands
He will be Xipe Totec
He shall perform his will
Until his vessel’s vessel is potted in the tight bowled clay