Meat, Meat, Meat, Meat, Meat
it’s what they, like, do. Slaughter. Eat. Sandy -shored Pylos: horns leafed gold, a stunned calf collapses. Hemoglobin jets. Royal women held her. Keen now. Consider [yowling] 100s butchered [yowling] time & time to temper Athene or Olympus’s Big Voice [self-turned to eagle, bull, swan, shepherd, that he might have]. Consider the mutton-drunk feast of these post-trauma crews, 6 per ship toward a hecatomb [when from fog survivors lunge them-ward] to the Kikonian dead. Or lotos gluttons’ nerve-zap yearning. What we want assembles in chewy flesh, ruled [like gods] by no-relenting stomach-turn toward the substantial.