Abbey Trois
In the slaughterhouse of dreamsWhere vegans vomit and virgins winceThe sliced rump steaks of REMBarbecued to a medium rareWith truffle tears and HP sauceThe salty residue seasons discreetly Lamb chops a throat punchOctopi tentacles mixed into thePlain white rice as the cap on theSaffron jar is fused shutA dry Chardonnay to complementThe floor covered in the entrails of desire The naked nuns discuss pomme fritesAs Poutine a sad substitute forTaste buds dripping with salivaPavlov would never approveThe dinner bell summoningThe hungry who might slip on the blood soaked floor