The Last open Meeting Point

Trembling I rise, my chilled hands rustle
as I wrap letterhead around four rhomboids
On the side, a data transfusion, a blood transfusion
Subtle clots, of which the papers do not speak
due to illegibility

At the station, nearby, a terrified girl
gazes at me, awaiting my ascent

In the past, in the future Fattening Animals
The coarse tongues of calves drinking my blood and yours
in hallways packed with the tobacco of the grace of god
Of the presumption of innocence, ha
Everything around us is awaiting, a-wailing
“Give my food, give me food ahead of time
At least half of portion!”

Come after midnight, with a sure step!