Needing
brute sound
peels out a chorus of pig snouts
each hair on their nostrils quivering
three more shoulder up to the trough
knowing its time
Dark
and burning
with patience the spiders
wait
for meat to come wandering on wings
seeking slop pile gluttony
but caught
Custom
to bow
the head before a meal
but sometimes
saliva stings
so fast beneath your tongue
it is prayer enough
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