I must feed the hungry beast of creation
that demands a sacrifice of Me.
My time of day it wants, and honeyed
blood of My veins, and rind of thought.
If I make no supplication then a shadow
I become, a sallow-skinned, dark-eyed wraith
busy with inattention, inconsolable.
The hungry beast swallows Me whole.
So I offer it small oblations
the ritual suckling of marrow.
I fatten it up like a newborn sow.
I raise behemoth that I may be in awe.
Artwork: Eugene Carriere – Le Fondeur (1900)