10/22/05

Since we’re afraid of death, we crave company.
Food provides that warmth. Don’t let the roast bleed
and take the diaper off the chicken when it’s time.
Helene said nice to see you, and I’ve been thinking
about you too, which is the problem, not the solution.
Business have solutions, some which are permanent,
but some diseases no private contractor can cure.

Food is affection, heaven and hell express the fear of death.
Dogs interpret offerings as affection. That carcass
they lick with the same eyes they flash their master
when he comes home. Dog food is just ground-up carcass
in a can. But they're coprophagic by nature, not nurture.
Death drives our activities to earn. Our desires

crave the food our desires create for us. We eat
from fear of death, and feel more affection
when the meal is hot. Heat conducts taste and affection.
Also, be sure to bless the blade by which the butcher
severs head from body. Fish rot from the head first
unless they’re iced. Sunk in ice their heartbeat slows
to hibernation. Cold-blooded, fat protects them.

Fish guts are recyclable as fertilizer and sulfurous odor
in sewer farms and mines. But resurrection originates
from mundane observations. Putrefaction drives the bean-stalk
to heaven and the trumpet of the yellow squash flower
to lift from the freshly laid mounds of compost.
Otherwise, dead fish would be matter out of place.
Compost festering in the sun, even dead phrases
and all forms of triteness revive in new makings.