Like the vultures, your days are passed dreaming
The rotten corpses of cows. You dance in
Pleasure having the earth and cry when you
Lose it. You have the appetite of eye,
Nose and belly; you are busy with them.
Sex, wine, fame and wealth are your twenty four
Hour’s headache. You turn cruel for earth and
It is the earth for which you turn kind. I
Look at the beasts one time and then I look
At you; I don’t understand why you are
Called Man and they beasts. O Man, why do I
Still notice ‘soul’ in your dictionary?
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