They wind and ungulate.
Those slippery shiny snakes.
Nestled deep within them
a throbbing blob to eat.
Smell the wet surroundings
before you swallow whole
the lobe of a grey liver.
Squeeze it and behold
the bah of the lamb
or the laugh of a goat.
Swallow this pastoral scene
and puke on remote.
We think we love our insides
no matter how they look.
Then why not eat a cannibal
when he bites off the head of a snook?
Taste is all in the setting.
Eat remains of war on a pick.
Hold nothing at all sacred
except your tummy on the fritz.