THE ART OF THE CANNIBOL
by Sam Silva
That rooted kind of egoism
…whitmanesque
in lineage
with which the modern poets dig.
Without any hint of courage
he digs himself a grave.
In the triumph of the city
whose prophet is a pig
who the masses long to eat.
With a nearly sexual leer
…the faith of each blind fool
where religion is a knave
without tragedy
or pity
…a Eucharist of meat
chased down by a beer
in the air conditioned cool….