Loin-Pig - Poem by Mark Heathcote
The night has a world of heavens
Their discovery widens our sight.
During hedonistic days and nights
Those combine makers? Make hay.
Harvesting - umbrae silence peace
There each pod, each mirrored—
Black-acre holds out a billion…
Marrow-fat peas and here a loin-pig
Sits at the head of a banquet, table.
Pleased its sits, so high, no one!
Can hear an oinking! Or see…
Not even an inch, a whisker of tail.
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