[first a sacrifice]
Now cup your hands. Hold them out like begging
or prayer. In that space where your palms do not
touch think of something decaying, something
alive. Breathe in this goatish swamp air, what
others call “swamp pussy.” Now cup your hands.
Hold them out to implore, pray. All the rot
of your swamplands are burning. Your swamplands
on fire in your poor, cupped hands. You cannot
let go. I’ll pray for you and your goatish,
dim soul; a beast led to slaughter. Don’t hope
that the goat knows the end of the rope. Prayer
stops when the goat is pulled forward. I wish
I had never seen that. The knife, the rope
and the terrible motion in the air.