An Ode to Alfred Packer

We always eat our young
We always eat our young
We’ve found a way to sharpen fangs
On our own flesh and blood

We always eat our love
We always eat our love
Swallow heads to (h)our glassy
stomaches when they come

We always eat our God
We always eat our God
We beg, deny, and crucify
and never get enough

We still eat our young
We still eat our young
We chew them up and grind them down
to something that we want

We still eat the ones we love
We still eat the ones we love
Food and sex are all we need,
Survival’s all we want

We still eat all our Gods
We still eat all our Gods
Whose bloody chalice posthumously
tells us what we want

Oh, Packer, maybe you were right

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