Billy Bibb, the Alabama rabbit hunter supreme
taxidermist and hunting consultant
he sat in a wheelchair feeding
his chickens astronomical heights
in backwoods hamlets in the far north
deep wilderness commencement of the root
that topmast had grown in the Ukraine,
or that the little spars came from some
Norwegian mountainside He had birds’ eggs,
young birds and honey; snails, frogs, fish,
mussels, and crayfish only death could stop

somewhere in this book is a solution
to your meat problem at 6:30 the gong
summoned us to dinner drugged with fatigue
pants more like patches determined to adventure
it was a turtle meal formed of bundles
of reddish fibres, endowed with the property
of contractility of lofty cryptomeria
of years before Christ, at its feet,
sculptured demons a gong sounds and reverberates

fish of all colors flecked the cobalt sea
well fed, flabby throng of violent colors
horse latitudes of white-pine naval
drifted over the craters off in search
of riches of bloodstains of years before
Christ his lady soon followed a dainty mess
of fine mullets hung like a screen in the sky
peopled by noble pelicans and in front of
the atlas the stomach to the throat
the sky is a galaxy of stars
the tiger has his lair the older the animal,
the darker the meat strung hump-like hollows
salt-like crystals sharks large, sharks small
remember you’re going to mount him, not eat him

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