Mark Arvid White
Abattoir (continued)
they
slice
our throats
and we bleed
again and again,
hung to die in their abattoir.
they
feed
and feed
on our flesh,
tossing our spent bones
on the floor of their devouring.
each
day
we rise
from the dead.
perfumed and fattened,
to the slaughterhouse we are led.
