For the old whore in Cuba, Alabama who once gave me a dollar without asking why.
He was forced to eat a star, although all he wanted was bread. All he wanted was to be normal, but he was pre-determined by the Butcher Shop to have his limbs chopped off for mystical purposes he didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand—the Village Priests apparently saw something sacred in deforming him, all the old gods were now held suspect, and in the air an incessant storm was brewing—they said to him, We will feed you and give you a name—You are to speak without imperfection—but as in all matters of society, the village soon became bored of their sacred amputee and starved him to death with moon dust and with solar interstices in his belly.