
The intestines, cut out with adamant
and thrown from warm belly to the tomb-cold steel tray
were left out for a long time, barely shaded.
The tray became warmer than the beast's blood,
black foam surrounded the pellucid flesh
and in it grew a soupy vapour. At first it touched
on the putrid matter, swathed in decrepit gown,
from there it departed silently and split
open above a congealed pool of oil, akh,
the poisonous sound of a bezoar dropping into
fuscous liquor.
Text by Thea Smith
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