a cannibalistic farmer raises his eyes to heaven
I was in the barn the other day,
slaughtering children for veal,
arms drenched in sticky glops of red,
when the sun broke through a cotton cloud,
lasering its broad, blinding warmth
past the floating white's wild edges,
through my new energy-efficient barn windows
to dry the blood on my raised arms
to a stiff, cracking paint.
I tossed away the tiny, fat leg
I was holding, kicked some
moaning infants aside, and
ran out into the golden fields
to bask in the glory of God.