Our Stomachs are Graveyards¹

We crack eggs on the counter 
And they spill like Heads onto 
Pavement—emptying Dreams & Guts.²
We lie the tender, down-ruffled bird on a platter and 
Ponder how to Eat out its Heart, without causing it distress.³
With bright Knives he releaseth my soul, he 
Maketh me to hang on Hooks in high places—
He converteth me to Cutlets.⁴
This Raw Flesh reeks of 
The butcher’s cleaver!⁵

We’re so kind-hearted that we can’t look at 
Blood, but enjoy eating the calf served up with Sauce—⁶
We have just dined, and however scrupulously the 
Slaughterhouse is Concealed in the graceful 
Distance of miles—there is Complicity.⁷
The Flesh of slain beasts in our bodies 
Will become our own Tomb—for 
They who kill—Kill themselves!⁸

Desire not the Flesh of slaughtered Animals—
Take no Milk mothers have made for their Young—
Grieve not unsuspecting Birds by eating their Eggs—
Spare even the Honey which Bees gather industriously,
For they do not Gather it that it might belong to others.⁹
Empathy must be limited to Herbivores!¹⁰


¹ Arundhati Roy, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
² Alenka Doyle, First and Last Crush
³ Yukio Mishima tr. Nathan, The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea
⁴ Roger Waters, Sheep
⁵ Sylvia Plath, Street Song
⁶ Leo Tolstoy tr. Louise and Aylmer Maude, War and Peace
⁷ Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Conduct of Life
⁸ Essene Gospel of Peace
⁹ Al Ma’arra tr. original, Do Not Unjustly Eat
¹⁰ Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?