The Beast

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I conspire with the beast.
Two or three times a day
I must feed my best friend,
this cuddly saturnine feline
such processed packets of slaughter,
which I dispense without
thought into his bowl.
He is the innocent;
it is I who flagrantly
intervenes in nature, my acquiescence
muffling screams — and my conscience.
And what am I
but a lapsed frugivore,
a hypocrite with hippie affectations
who dares to profess that he cares?

*The beast is not the cat but the ‘system’.

Copyright Francis 2020

Meat — Jane Dougherty Writes (Reblog)

We have made this world coldpitiless and cruel. The dark called up or downor dragged from the abysswraps wet winged arms about uscradling some in their desired blindness while the hallowed beam that glowsshows to those with open eyesonly our hypocrisy and the killing fieldsbeneath bone-light.

Meat — Jane Dougherty Writes